


Trophy Wife

by Sweetfire22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, References to Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetfire22/pseuds/Sweetfire22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hermione married Rhys Morenci, the wealthy wizard, she thought that she had married for love. It took only a few months for her to realize that that she was nothing more than his trophy wife. An old enemy entering her life could change all this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was once on HPFF under my account username FutureAggie09, but I had to remove it due to their stringent site rules that do not allow any depictions of spousal abuse. I received several requests to post it elsewhere, so I decided to post it here. It is also posted on Fanfiction.net under my account username Sweetfire22. The story is already completed and will consist of seven chapters. Thank you for reading!

Trophy Wife

 

You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone. Hermione recalled the old muggle song dismally as she scrubbed the counter with a vengeance. Ever since she had been exposed to magic at age eleven, she had loved it. Now, she scraped furiously at a particularly stubborn bit of tomato sauce with her muggle sponge. Dried tomato sauce was the worst; once it dried on the counter, it was nearly impossible to get it off. With magic, of course, it would be a simple matter of using “Scourgify,” but magic was a luxury that the young woman was rarely permitted to use.

  
A small noise at the other end of the kitchen made her jump and turn around.

“Merlin,” swore a man’s deep baritone voice. “A bit jumpy, woman?”

Hermione saw her husband, Rhys Morenci, facing her. She knew better than to respond; a fading bruise on her side was a vivid reminder of the last time she had risen to his taunts.

Rhys was dressed in an expensive gray suit and holding his leather briefcase; he was clearly ready for a day of work, Hermione noticed with relief. She returned her attention to the counter, her faded blue sponge working once more at the obstinate stain. Perhaps if she remained quiet, Rhys would leave for work.

Light footsteps clicked on the tile as Rhys approached. Hermione stiffened, her eyes on the counter. A hand collided hard with the side of her face. Hermione cried out with surprise.

“Look at me when I am speaking to you,” Rhys growled, gripping her chin in a perfectly-manicured hand.  
Hermione’s startled brown eyes met her husband’s angry green ones. The tall, thin man glared down at her, his short, dark brown hair perfectly combed back. A brief smile crossed his lips as Hermione flinched instinctively at his touch. “I’m having several prospective customers over for dinner tonight,” he continued, coffee in his breath as it wafted softly over her face.  “If this goes well, it will mean several million Galleons added to the business.” His excited expression turned imposing and almost threatening. Hermione sensed the change and waited with bated breath, her face immobile in his grip. “I wish you to make a good impression, so I’ll give you your wand back. This house had better be clean by the time I get back.” He released her chin and took a step back, looking her up and down. Disgust was present in every corner of his face as he took in the sight of her messy ponytail and loose pants. “And for Merlin’s sake, try and clean yourself up.”

Hermione hid her pain at his comment and nodded. She managed to keep her composure while Rhys fetched her wand and left for work.   
  
It was then that the tears came.  
  
When Hermione had married Rhys nine months ago, she thought that the wealthy wizard had loved her. He courted her gallantly and the brilliant witch soon found herself captivated by him. Soon after their marriage, however, she realized that she was his trophy wife, needed only to appear at social occasions and to keep the mansion relatively clean. Her wand was confiscated, given to her only when Rhys saw fit.

Her friendship with Harry and Ron had dwindled, since she couldn’t send any letters without Rhys reading them—A charm on the house prevented her from leaving the grounds without Rhys.  
Any time she asked to visit her friends, Rhys would fly into a rage, asking if she was cheating on him. Only once had Harry and Ron come over to the mansion for a visit. The visit was never repeated. After her friends left, Rhys had beaten Hermione badly. Hermione told no one about the attack, though she spent the night in St. Mungo’s. The official story was that she had fallen—Ron and Harry suspected otherwise, they were unable to speak to Hermione at a time when Rhys wasn’t around.

Rhys had changed from the sweet man he had been while they were dating to a controlling, sadistic man who frightened her. Hermione wiped her eyes abruptly, cutting off the pity party. She had things to do to get ready for that night; if she wasn’t ready for Rhys and his guests when they arrived that evening, she shuddered to think of what would happen. 

“Welcome to our home,” Hermione said, smiling beautifully as she held open the heavy mahogany door for her husband and his dinner guests. 

Rhys paraded in first, his chest thrust out like an overconfident peacock. As he passed Hermione, he covertly snatched her wand out of her hand. His guests followed: a plump, white-haired man who slightly resembled Santa Claus, a lean, blonde young man, a burly black-haired man, and a pristine man who had balding brown hair. Accustomed to dinner business meetings such as this, the men handed their cloaks to her without even looking at her.

Hermione took her time hanging up their cloaks neatly in the cloak room. Then she joined the group in the living room. The five men had already seated themselves in the luxurious furniture that graced the room. At seeing her, Rhys stood up from his chair and came over to her. In full view of the guests, or perhaps because of it, he kissed her lightly on the lips. “You look lovely,” he murmured, just loud enough for the others to hear. As a possession, Hermione’s beauty was to be fully appreciated by the guests.

Hermione smiled uncertainly in response. She was wearing a deep blue dress that clung to her body and emphasized her pleasing attributes. Her brunette hair was pinned up, leaving several soft curls to float gently around her face. The only jewelry she wore was her sparkling diamond wedding ring and a sapphire pendant that had been a gift to her from Harry.

Rhys stepped away from her and rejoined his guests, who were politely waiting for him to begin introductions. Hermione sat beside her husband on the silk couch, feeling the eyes of the other men upon her. She did her best not to show her nervousness by fidgeting. Rhys was older than her by seven years. While business came naturally to him, the twenty-one-year-old Hermione lacked the experience and patience necessary to enjoy a business dinner party like this one. 

“Gentlemen, this is my wife, Hermione,” Rhys said to the room, his hand resting on Hermione’s bare shoulder. The men all gazed at her politely. “Hermione, this is Chase Harding,” he said pointing to the balding man, who smiled and nodded. Rhys pointed next to the white-haired man and the black haired man in succession. “Hans Grant and Roald Cyrus.” Roald Cyrus gave her an appraising look, his dark eyes inscrutable. Rhys gestured to the last man, the young blonde. “And Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione stiffened, looking at the blonde with undisguised shock. Draco Malfoy?!

“Hermione?” Rhys noticed her expression and pinched her side hard, out of sight of the guests. His fingers closed directly on the bruise he had left earlier in the week, causing Hermione to wince in pain.

“Pleased to meet you all,” she said a bit belatedly, but her charming smile made the older men forget that. Draco Malfoy’s face was cool and expressionless—if he recognized her, he gave no sign. “I’ll just go and get the wine,” she said, her face flushed. She glanced at Rhys for permission, which he gave with a subtle nod.

Hermione headed for the kitchen. Once out of sight of the guests, she leaned against the refrigerator, breathing deeply. She didn’t know why she was so shocked to see Malfoy here; everyone knew that Lucius Malfoy had spent the time after Voldemort’s defeat building up his business until it was a multi-billion Galleon success. It shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise that his son had taken over after his schooling was complete. Still, it was quite a shock to see him there for the first time since Hogwarts. To have to play the part of Rhys’s trophy wife was a horror in and of itself. Still, it seemed that he hadn’t recognized her—perhaps he had expected her to marry Ron, as had most of the wizarding world.

Before Rhys could get upset with her for dawdling, Hermione managed to recover ; she left the kitchen, carrying a tray with a bottle of ruby-red wine and six wine glasses.  
  
The men were deep in conversation about stock numbers and business profits, but the conversation halted when she returned.

“1977, a great year for wine!” chortled Hans, seeing the date on the bottle of red wine that Hermione was pouring. 

Rhys was watching Hermione’s every move carefully, and she knew that any mistake she made would be brought up after the other men left. She moved gracefully from one man to the next, filling their glass with the expensive wine. Roald Cyrus continued to focus his gaze on her, which made her extremely uncomfortable.

Hermione made her way around the circle of guests, ending with Draco Malfoy. He looked up at her coolly as she tilted the wine bottle over his glass. 

He looked very much the same as he had when she had last seen him, at their graduation ceremony three years ago. The only thing different now was the absence of his customary smirk or superior expression. Malfoy simply gazed at her with polite interest. Like the other dinner guests, he was wearing formal robes, though rather than being plain, his were embellished with gold trim along the seams—the initials  _DM_ were embroidered over his heart.

Hermione didn’t realize that she hadn’t been paying attention to the pouring of the wine until Malfoy reached up and grabbed her wrist; the glass had begun to overflow. Red wine spilled over onto his hand and the coffee table.

“Hermione, dear, watch it!” Rhys cried, leaping up. The “dear” in his exclamation was forced, a clear attempt to disguise his instant rage at her slip-up.

Hermione quickly set down the bottle of wine, her face flushed and eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry, Mr. Malfoy!” she apologized quickly, running to the kitchen to get a rag.

From inside the kitchen, she heard Malfoy saying quietly to Rhys, “Where may I wash my hands, Mr. Morenci?”

Hermione rummaged in a drawer for a cloth with which to clean off the table. A hand grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and spun her around, shoving her back against the counter.

“You stupid, clumsy ox!” Rhys hissed in an undertone. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you once they leave.”

Hermione flinched as he dug his fingers into her skin. “Rhys, I didn’t mean—”

“You’d just better hope that I make this business deal tonight,” he growled, “or it will be much worse for you.”

Hermione stared back at him, her eyes brimming with tears and her face quite pale.

“And don’t bother trying to clean it up the muggle way, you idiot. How would that look? I’ll handle it with magic.” Rhys released her with one last rough jerk and headed back into the living room. 

Hermione wiped her sweaty hands on a hand towel and tried to control her shaking. Several tears managed to escape her eyes, but were brushed away quickly. She took several deep breaths and started to leave the kitchen when a gentle hand rested on her arm. She looked up, startled, to see grey eyes looking down upon her.

“Are you all right?” Draco Malfoy asked her, his eyes searching hers. 

“I’m perfectly all right, thank you,” Hermione replied scathingly, ashamed and scared that he had seen some or all of the previous scene.

 At hearing her angry tone, Malfoy released her immediately without another word and continued past her into the living room.

 “I do hope that your robes were not damaged in any way, Draco,” Rhys was saying as Hermione walked back into the room. The coffee table was once again spotless.

“No, not at all,” Malfoy answered. 

“My wife is young and unused to living in high society,” said Rhys, trying to detract attention from Hermione’s actions by making his guests laugh.

It had the desired effect; Hans laughed richly, though not mockingly.

“It’s fine,” Malfoy replied, a touch of annoyance creeping into his tone.

Rhys took the hint and began to speak to his guests about the benefits of his product, which was a complex sort of device called "Insta-Message" that would enable each member of a company to send messages without using interdepartmental memos or owls. It worked on the same principle as the DA’s golden Galleons that Hermione had invented years previous. The entire idea for Rhys’s business had been Hermione’s idea, and though Rhys had been rich on his own before they had met, no one could pretend that Hermione’s idea hadn’t at least quadrupled his fortune.

Rhys spoke all through dinner—which had been prepared by the house elf—and Hermione was grateful for the chance to simply focus on her food and ignore all else. Rhys’s voice droned on and on as he worked to persuade his guests to purchase his items to use in their large companies. Having heard Rhys’s argument a hundred times, Hermione pushed his voice out of her mind.

Over dessert (a decadent fruit cake), Hans, Roald, Chase, and Malfoy shared their thoughts about Rhys’s chances of receiving large orders from their companies.

“I might be persuaded to purchase one for each member of my staff,” mused Malfoy, taking a sip of wine. His grey eyes narrowed calculatingly. “But you’ll have to come down on the price of each by a Sickle.”

Rhys’s face lit up—he was no poker player. He appeared to consider the proposal for a moment as his face flushed with exhilaration. He then tried to compose himself as he shook his head thoughtfully. “I can go down four Knuts per unit, but that’s the best I can do.”

Malfoy smirked, reading the man’s face flawlessly. “Knock off ten Knuts and we have a deal.”

“Agreed,” Rhys said quickly, grinning from ear to ear.

Hermione chewed her piece of strawberry, trying not to grin at the way Rhys had caved to Malfoy’s bargaining.

The other company heads made similar deals with Rhys, who looked happier by the minute. When it came time to leave, each of the dinner guests kissed Hermione’s hand and politely said goodbye to her.   
Malfoy gave her another one of those searching looks before he, too, made his exit. The door shut behind the last guest and Rhys sighed in relief.

“Luckily, your fuck-up didn’t cost me any business,” he said contentedly, loosening his tie as he headed for the bedroom.

Hermione followed him, hoping that his joy at making the deals he wanted would eclipse his anger at her spill earlier in the evening.

“I’m sorry, Rhys,” she said once they were in their bedroom. “I knew Draco Malfoy from when I was at school—we were classmates. I hadn’t seen him in a while and it startled me.”

“Yes, well, in the future, try to keep it to yourself, so we don’t waste wine or ruin clothing and furniture.”

“I will,” she promised, sliding off her dress.

“Now, come here, my beautiful kitten,” said Rhys, a greedy, lust-filled look coming into his eyes.

  
Hermione obediently crawled into bed and let him do what he wished with her. As she drifted to sleep afterwards, grey eyes haunted her dreams.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sunshine flowed through the large bay windows of the bedroom, bathing Hermione’s sleeping form with light. The welcoming warmth woke the young wife up, though she kept her eyes closed, listening intently for signs of her husband. Hearing nothing, she yawned and opened her eyes hesitantly—the room was empty. 

Hermione pushed back the blue velvet covers and got out of bed. She quickly made the bed and headed for the shower. The bathroom was large and luxurious, but Hermione cared only that there was a lock on the door that Rhys would be unable to break.

During one of the few times that she had been allowed to have possession of her wand, Hermione had placed a charm on the lock to allow only the person who had locked the door could unlock it. This way, she had one room in the entire house where she could absolutely not be disturbed. So far, Rhys had been oblivious to this little addition to his bathroom lock.   
  
When Hermione descended the stairs dressed in white cutoffs and a red t-shirt, she expected to have the house to herself, since it was already eight thirty; Rhys normally left for work between six forty five and seven in the morning. Humming quietly, she entered the kitchen to make breakfast for herself. Though they did have a house elf to do the cooking, Hermione preferred to cook for herself when she was alone.

“Good morning, Hermione,” Rhys said, looking up from the  _Daily Prophet_ he was reading at the dining room table. He was not dressed as he usually did for work; instead of his gray work robes, he wore simple black robes. 

 Hermione froze at seeing him, her good mood instantly shattered. “Good morning,” she replied, offering a small smile to him. 

Rhys returned her smile in kind. 

To cover her confusion at his presence, Hermione went to the shining stainless-steel coffeemaker and poured herself a cup of coffee. 

“Today, I thought we’d go to the dressmaker in Diagon Alley and have you fitted for a dress—the Ministry of Magic’s annual ball is coming up,” Rhys said, his eyes back in the paper. “Then, we can stop in for lunch at Delacour’s, followed by a bit more shopping. I do need some new dress robes.”

Hermione sat down at the table across from Rhys, her coffee in hand. She shakily took a sip, her anxiety level instantly at a high by the news that she was to spend all day shopping with Rhys.

“Well?” Rhys looked up impatiently at her lack of response. “Flicker, get some breakfast cooked up already,” he ordered the house elf.

“That sounds like fun,” Hermione lied, dread seeping through her. She was angered by the tone that Rhys used towards their friendly house elf, though she said nothing. She had long since learned not to contradict her volatile husband.

Flicker scurried over to the table with two plates and placed them before Hermione and Rhys.

“Good,” Rhys said. “We’ll leave in an hour.”

Breakfast was a subdued affair for Hermione—Rhys spoke fervently of the millions of Galleons he had gained from his business dinner the night before and all the people that he knew in the Wizarding world who would also be interested in _his_ invention. No mention was made of the fact that Hermione had originally given him the idea. Hermione’s only job was to sit quietly and appear interested in whatever he said. 

When Rhys talked about his work, it was easy for Hermione to pretend that he was the man that she had married, for he was neither yelling at her nor criticizing her. His face was transformed as he spoke of money and how much wealth he possessed. For Rhys, it was all about possessions—how much he had, how much he wanted to gain, and _especially,_ how much he had compared to others.

Just as Rhys put his fork down and stood to leave the kitchen, a handsome eagle owl flew through the window and landed on his shoulder. 

Hermione watched curiously as Rhys tore open the envelope, which was a heavy parchment sealed with an elaborate crest. The owl flapped its wings heavily and soared back out of the mansion the same way it had come in. Rhys read the letter, a slow smile spreading across his face as his eyes moved down the page. 

“What does it say?” Hermione asked tentatively, sure that anything that made Rhys smile boded ill for her.

Rhys looked at her, his eyes alight with excitement. “We have been invited to dinner by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy at Malfoy Manor tomorrow night.”

Hermione froze in mid-bite, her fork halfway to her mouth. Dinner at the house of a former Death Eater? Not to mention the house where Draco Malfoy lived—and after him witnessing her embarrassment of the previous night, Hermione had even more reason not to want to see him again.

“I must have made an even better impression on the younger Malfoy than I thought,” Rhys mused, rereading the invitation once more.   
  
“Rhys,” Hermione said hesitantly. “Is it really safe to go to the home of a former Death Eater? Aren’t you worried that this could be a plot to kill you and get your business?” She silently congratulated herself as she subtly hit all Rhys’s secret fears. He was a coward who could never take on a fully-trained Death Eater, and he was ever paranoid of schemes to overthrow him and his company. Hermione knew that it was this paranoia behind his insistency in keeping her wand away from her, as he needed to feel in control at all times.

Rhys’s face darkened with suspicion, just as she had predicted. “Yes, perhaps this is all an elaborate lure to get me away from my house and murder me for my business.”

Had she not been so desperate to get out of this dinner invitation, Hermione might have laughed at her husband’s gullibility. The thought that the Malfoys would need to lure Rhys away from his house in order to kill him was just as ludicrous as the idea that Rhys’s business was so important that someone would even _want_ to kill him.

“Yes!” Rhys shouted loudly, slamming his fist on the table. “I see it now!” He laughed grimly, but the laughter had an edge of hysteria. “Well, they won’t get away with this—trust me.”

Hermione relaxed. Surely, Rhys would decide against going over to Malfoy Manor for dinner the next day. 

“We shall go to Malfoy Manor tomorrow night,” he declared loudly. Hermione groaned inwardly. “I’ll show those murdering, thieving monsters that Rhys Morenci is not a man who runs away from  _anything.”_

Hermione sighed; this had not gone exactly as planned. For the next twenty minutes, Rhys blustered on and on, informing both Hermione and the disinterested house elf that he was no coward and that he would end up on top at the end of this battle. 

 _It’s obvious that he has never had to fight real Death Eaters or Lord Voldemort himself,_ Hermione thought to herself.  _Then he’d know what a real battle was._ Of course, thinking about fighting Death Eaters made her think of Harry and Ron, whom she missed desperately. 

Harry was currently dating Ginny Weasley—no surprises there. Their relationship was going quite well. The last time Hermione had spoken to Harry, he was considering proposing to Ginny. Hermione wondered if he had gotten up the courage to do that yet. There really wasn’t any reason for him to be nervous, since Ginny was completely in love with him and would probably say yes before Harry even finished the words, “Will you marry me?” 

  
At that time Hermione had last seen him, Ron had been between relationships; his last one had left him completely and totally heartbroken when his girlfriend—a girl he had met at his job in the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic—had cheated on him with one of Ron’s colleagues. When Hermione had last seen Ron, he had sworn off women forever. She doubted he’d stuck with that.

“Rhys,” Hermione said, when there was a break in her husband’s self-praising rant. “I’d really like to see Harry and Ron sometime soon.” She braced herself for what was sure to be an onslaught of insults.

“And I’d really like to win the Gringotts Lottery, but it isn’t going to happen, sweetheart,” Rhys said without missing a beat. His green eyes focused calmly on her as he folded his newspaper and placed it neatly on the table before him.

Hermione’s heart sank, but she didn’t give up. “I haven’t seen them in over a month, and I miss them,” she said determinedly.

The dangerous look slid into Rhys’s dark eyes. “Am I not man enough for you?”

“Rhys, you know it’s not that, I just—”

“Then why do you need them?!” Rhys’s voice built to a yell.

“Because they’re my best bloody friends and I love them!” Hermione finally yelled, matching his volume. She knew that she was asking for trouble by losing her temper, but this was something that she would not give in about: the right to see her best friends.

“You stupid little bitch!” Rhys growled, advancing on her. Hermione flinched at his use of profanity, but otherwise remained still. “After all I’ve done for you—given you a home, clothes, money—you can’t even show a little respect for me. I work hard every day to give you everything you desire, and this is what—”

“I don’t  _desire_ anything from you!” she cried, dodging his fist. “Just love and respect!”

Rhys, his face red and angry, pulled out his wand. He shot a hex at Hermione, who couldn’t duck quickly enough. The stinging hex hit her on the right arm, leaving an angry red welt.

“You may not see them!” he screamed, his wand aimed directly at her heart; several sparks shot out of the tip, reflecting Rhys’s anger. “I forbid it!”

Hermione looked him straight in the eyes, tears filling her brown eyes. She could feel her lip trembling with hurt and sadness. As she lost the battle with her tears, she turned and fled the room, heading for the library.

Rhys did not follow her, and several minutes later, Hermione heard the sound of the muggle television playing in the living room. She collapsed into one of the leather couches that was in the elaborate library and sighed. To escape from her thoughts, she grabbed a book from one of the shelves and began to read. 

Hermione read for the duration of the day—to her relief, Rhys left her alone—without eating or even leaving the library. It appeared that Rhys had forgotten about his shopping trip.

When it grew dark, Hermione felt under her favorite chair for the two items that lay neatly folded beneath it. She pulled out a pillow and soft blanket. Going to the very back of the library, Hermione lay out the blanket on the soft, plush carpet and curled up on it with her pillow. Though her arm still burned from the hex, she managed to fall asleep relatively quickly, praying that Rhys wouldn’t decide to go find her.

 

~*~

 

Hermione was awoken the next morning by their house elf, Flicker. “Mistress must wake up!” insisted Flicker, tapping her on the shoulder with frantic fingers.

 Hermione sat up, wincing at the pain in her back from sleeping on the floor. The sun shone brightly through the window, indicating that it was at least ten o’clock. “What’s wrong, Flicker?” she asked sleepily. The house elf looked terrified. Her knobby knees were shaking and her eyes were huge.

 “Master is furious,” Flicker chattered. “He wants Mistress right away!”

 Hermione yawned and got to her feet. Her stomach fluttered nervously as she wondered what had happened to make her husband so angry. The burn on her left arm still hurt where she had been hexed the night before; stinging hexes took days to heal if they were left to heal on their own.

"It’ll be okay, Flicker. I’m on my way,” she reassured the frightened house elf. Hermione walked through the mansion quickly, calling out her husband’s name. 

“Hermione! Get in here!” screamed Rhys, his voice coming from the kitchen. When she walked through the doorway, she saw that her husband was in a fine rage. His face was red, his eyes were bulging, and his mouth was curved in a furious snarl as he read from the Daily Prophet. “I cannot believe this. I simply cannot believe this!”

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, desperately trying to keep her voice from trembling.

“There’s been another product just released on the market that does the exact same thing that mine does!” he yelled, grabbing the neck of her t-shirt and pulling her face right up in front of his. “This could ruin my entire business,” he hissed. “And do you know who it is? Roald Cyrus! The very slime that I invited into my home and made a business deal with! It seems it was not Malfoy we needed to be worried about—it was Cyrus!”

Hermione flinched back from the spittle that was flying from Rhys’s mouth in his fury.

Rhys let go of her shirt and she fell backwards, catching herself on the counter before she fell.

“This is all _your_ fault!” he snarled, advancing on her with his wand raised. “If you hadn’t spilled that wine like the clumsy little whore you are, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Rhys, please calm down,” Hermione pleaded. “You have a patent on your product; what Cyrus is doing is illegal. Just report him to Magical Law Enforcement and they’ll—”

The slap came without warning. She reeled backwards, her already hexed arm hitting the counter as she fell to the floor.

“I have a way to fix this,” he said quietly, glaring down at his shaking wife on the floor. “You will go to Cyrus and…persuade…him to drop his product. You’re quite beautiful when you try to be. I’m sure access to your body will be more than enough to convince him.”

“Rhys, please,” Hermione said, rubbing her cheek where she had been struck. Shock and horror at the very idea numbed her brain. “Just seek litigation against him. You own the patent—he’ll be forced to relinquish his product and pay you for anything he has already sold…”

“But, see,” Rhys said dangerously, “that’s a lot of work for me to do, when all I really have to do is have my pretty little kitten do a little something for Cyrus. Don’t worry—I’ll imbue you with all the spells against diseases and pregnancy before you go. Wouldn’t want any little bastard children running around, would we?” Rhys smirked.

Cold fear swept through the young woman. She didn’t want to be hit again, but she had to try once more to persuade him to let go of this horrible idea. She got to her feet and walked to her husband, giving him a peck on the cheek. “But Rhys, the only man I want is you,” she said quietly. She ran her hands down his chest and toyed with his belt buckle, hoping that his lust would overcome his greed.

“And the only woman I want is one who is showered and well-dressed,” Rhys replied harshly, walking away from her.

Hermione’s heart sank. She wished with all her heart that Rhys could be the man she’d thought he was when she married him. “Rhys, don’t make me do this, please. When we got married, I vowed to be faithful to you. I don’t want to break that vow! I love you, and you’re the only man I want.”

“Don’t worry, Hermione. You’ll still have me! But this is necessary for me to save my business, and as my wife, you should want to preserve my business, too. You will do as I request, as soon as I can set you up a meeting with Cyrus,” Rhys said as he walked to their bedroom to dress for work. “And don’t forget to be prepared for dinner tonight at Malfoy Mansion,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll pick you up at 5 o’clock tonight. Be ready. Do wear that red dress we bought you last week.”

Once Rhys was gone, Hermione sat at the table and ate breakfast that Flicker cooked for her. Her mind spun with plans to get out of sleeping with Roald Cyrus. She didn’t like the look of that man. He had said little to nothing during dinner, preferring simply to listen to what the others were saying and looking Hermione up and down when Rhys wasn’t watching. He was the head of Cyrus Gaming, an enormous company that produced many Wizarding games such as Gobstones, Wizarding Chess, and Exploding Snap. Cyrus himself was known as a cold, ruthless man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. It was enough to make Hermione shudder just thinking about him. She didn’t quite understand why her jealous, possessive husband would actually be forcing his wife to sleep with another man, but then again, the most important thing to Rhys was not his wife—it was his precious business.

If only she had her wand, then she could leave him…but, Hermione asked herself, would she really leave her husband? He was the only thing she had. Ron and Harry would by this time be busy with their own lives and her parents were on an extended holiday in America. She had no money of her own and nowhere to go. Plus, no matter how badly he treated her, he knew just how to make her forget it all, with the gentle words and sweet demeanor that he could adopt at a moment’s notice.

“Oh, Flicker, what am I going to do?” she asked the kind house elf.

“Is the breakfast not tasty enough, Mistress? Flicker will make something else,” Flicker insisted anxiously.

“No, the breakfast is delicious,” said Hermione sadly, getting up to wash her dishes in the sink. “I don’t know why Rhys has turned into such a monster. It’s his business—it really is. I never should have told him my idea about the Insta-Message...”

The day passed too quickly while Hermione cleaned the house. Flicker hovered about, wanting to help, but Hermione refused to let her. She hated the idea of an innocent, enslaved creature serving her when she was perfectly capable of doing the work herself.

 When 3 o’clock came, she took a shower and began to get ready for the dreaded dinner at Malfoy Mansion. _The only good thing about this Cyrus business is that now Draco Malfoy isn’t my first worry,_ thought Hermione while she rubbed shampoo into her long, brunette hair.  _All I have to do is get through tonight with his family, and then I’ll figure out what to do about Roald Cyrus. After all, maybe Malfoy doesn’t even recognize me. He certainly didn’t show it last night._

Once out of the shower, she dressed in the red dress that Rhys had ordered her to wear. It was her least favorite out of the many dinner dresses that she owned. It was an extremely low-cut dress that showed quite a bit of cleavage and emphasized her breasts. The top was tight-fitting around the chest and then flowed down loosely around her waist. It was a long, ballroom-type dress that Rhys liked her to wear whenever he wanted to show her off. She put on Harry’s sapphire pendant and a simple diamond bracelet that Rhys had bought her to match her wedding ring.

She dried and curled her hair, which she wore down. She sprayed hair spray in her hair that had subtle glitter in it that she knew Rhys liked. For makeup, she put on a little eyeliner and lipstick. When she looked in the mirror, the only thing that looked out of place was the hex on her arm. To fix that, she donned black elbow-length gloves, which hid the mark nicely. By the time she finished, it was just five minutes to five, and she hurried downstairs to meet her husband, whom she prayed was in a good mood.

Rhys apparated into the house at exactly five o’clock. He eyed Hermione appreciatively. “You look absolutely luscious,” he murmured. “I don’t even feel like going to the Malfoy’s now—not when I have something as delectable as you just waiting here to be devoured.”

He lowered his head and kissed her deeply. Hermione kissed him back, hoping that for once he would be kind and that the two of them would have a pleasant night. Rhys wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close in a deep, passionate kiss. Hermione’s heart lifted, thinking that she was wrong about Rhys. Suddenly, she felt his hand groping her behind and her heart sank. He was only acting like this because he wanted her body.

Rhys broke the kiss. “Regrettably, we must be off,” he sighed. He was already dressed in his best dress robes, which were a dark brick-red that went well with Hermione’s dress.

He grabbed Hermione’s upper arm and turned in place, transporting her along with him to the extravagant Malfoy Mansion.

The two of them reappeared outside the enormous mansion. The tall, black, wrought-iron gates loomed over them, giving Hermione a chill, though the evening was quite warm. Two peacocks walked idly around inside the gates, their beaks nuzzling through the grass for bugs or worms. With barely a sound, the gates slowly opened by themselves.

“Come, Hermione,” Rhys said imperiously, pulling Hermione forward so abruptly that she nearly fell in the matching red heels she was wearing. “And try not to make a fool of yourself tonight. Mr. Malfoy does a lot of business with a lot of companies that I need to be on the good side of.”

“I won’t, Rhys,” Hermione sighed, trying to keep up with him.

The front lawn of Malfoy Manor was so large that it took nearly five minutes for Rhys and Hermione to cross it. “There _is_ such a thing as too big,” growled Rhys, clearly feeling insignificant at the sheer size of Malfoy Manor

They approached the door, which was opened the second they reached it by Lucius Malfoy, his wife standing serenely by his side.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Morenci,” Narcissa Malfoy said warmly, holding out her hand for Rhys to kiss. She drew Hermione close to her and gave the younger woman a kiss on the cheek, which Hermione returned. Narcissa was wearing a long blue dress that was studded with diamonds on the seams. An expensive pearl necklace rested on the delicate neck, and jeweled rings adorned every other finger. She looked much younger than Hermione knew her to be. She had long, straight blonde hair that perfectly matched that of her husband and son.

Lucius Malfoy was wearing black dress robes with green accents. His blonde hair looked much as it had the night that Hermione had dueled him in the Department of Mysteries her fifth year. A shiver ran through Hermione as she remembered that night. From what she’d heard, Lucius Malfoy’s story about being under the Imperius spell had been quite true (proven under Veritaserum), so she knew that she had nothing to fear from him, but it still made Hermione want to be wary of him.

Lucius leaned forward and kissed Hermione’s hand politely after shaking Rhys’s. “We are pleased to have you at our home. Please come in.”

Rhys and Hermione walked inside Malfoy Mansion. Hermione had to restrain herself from gasping. The entryway of the house was huge, with a glass ceiling that allowed the last fading light from the sunset to enter the room. Soft yellow light came from floating orbs around the room.

“My son will be joining us shortly,” Lucius said, leading the way for them into the drawing room. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour. Before, please enjoy some tea and cake just through here.”

Hermione sat in the chair next to Rhys, who placed a hand possessively on her thigh. A tortoiseshell cat napped on the windowsill. Narcissa snapped her fingers and a house elf came scurrying in with a pot of tea and a tray of cakes. The house elf began to pour the tea into five teacups.

Hermione looked around the room, wondering where Draco Malfoy could be. She hoped he took his time wherever he was. She didn’t want to give him any more chances to recognize her than he already had.

The cat, meowing plaintively, jumped off the windowsill and weaved its way between the house elf’s legs, clearly seeking the milk that was on the table for the tea. The startled house elf dropped the tea pot, which shattered on the marble floor, spilling its contents everywhere.

“Skippy!” snapped Lucius, his grey eyes furious. “Clean this mess up, immediately!”

Skippy squeaked in terror and frantically used his own shirt to try to clean the floor.

Hermione tried to hold herself back, but she couldn’t. “Sir, it isn’t really his fault,” she said. “He didn’t know that the cat was there.” Her face flushed red with embarrassment and anger.

Lucius looked at her in surprise. Narcissa gave him a tiny smile as if to say, _This is how the new money behaves. Make some allowances for her._

Rhys’s fingers tightened on Hermione’s leg to the point where she almost whimpered in pain. “Please pardon my wife,” he said through clenched teeth. “She is young and has foolish ideas at times.” His dark and furious glance at Hermione promised later retribution.

At that moment, the person Hermione last wished to see walked into the room. Since he provided a welcome distraction for Rhys, she decided that perhaps it was a good thing he arrived at precisely this moment.

“I apologize for my lateness,” said Draco, looking splendid in robes identical to those he had worn the last time he was in Hermione’s presence. He watched with raised eyebrows as the house elf finished cleaning up the tea mess. When Skippy ran from the room, still squeaking apologies, he turned to Hermione and kissed her hand. “Pleasure to see you again,” he said. “You as well,” he said to Rhys, shaking the man’s hand. Draco seated himself next to his father, across from Rhys.

“I’ve been hearing interesting things lately about your Insta-Message,” Draco said, a hint of a smirk on his smooth face. “It seems our dinner partner of a few days ago has taken it upon himself to steal your idea.”

Rhys took a sip of his newly-poured tea and smiled tensely. “Roald Cyrus has not heard the last of me. I have plans to put Cyrus in his place,” he said dangerously.

“Cyrus is just a businessman,” Lucius mused. “Blackmail is the best route with men like him; from what I hear, he has a shady reputation regarding missing woman. With some proof, he’ll be putty in your hands. Unless you were to go to the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and sue him?”

Hermione went pale as Lucius mentioned missing women.

“Magical Law Enforcement is too slow,” Rhys said, shaking his head. “I want this ended now. I already have my plans.”

“Care to share them?” asked Draco, leaning back in his chair calmly. He looked politely curious.

“They’re a tad on the questionable side,” replied Rhys, shaking his head. “But I would like to thank you for your order of the real, _genuine_ Insta-Message from me.”

The conversation dragged on and on about Rhys’s business and the Malfoy business, making Hermione want to either fall asleep or die. She made it all the way through dinner without saying much, but she was aware of Draco Malfoy’s eyes on her throughout the night. The peculiar thing was that his gaze was not that it was the kind that most men used on her; that is to say, his eyes were on her face. They remained well above her breasts, which was a relief.

Dinner was succulent duck with a wine sauce. The wine served with dinner was a heavy red wine that, after two glasses of it, made Hermione feel a little tipsy. When she was finished eating, she asked where the bathroom was.

“I will escort you,” Draco said, rising from the table, his meal finished.

Hermione looked up to Rhys, who nodded his approval. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said quietly, taking his proffered arm and leaving the room.

“So,” Draco said once they were in the hallway, his grey eyes dancing wickedly, “the muggleborn married rich.”

Hermione glared at him, half in shock and half in dismay. He did recognize her! She let go of his arm. “Money had nothing to do with it,” she snapped.

Draco merely laughed. He pointed to a wooden door on their left, which had a Latin phrase inscribed on it in gold. The phrase was unfamiliar to Hermione. “The bathroom is just through there.

Hermione walked into the bathroom without another word, her heart pounding hard. The bathroom was tastefully decorated, and lit with a soft yellow light that illuminated her flushed face all too well. She pulled off her long gloves, washed her hands and patted her face with a soft hand towel. She took a few deep breaths. _Okay, Hermione, calm down_ , she told herself. _Just ignore anything he says so that Rhys won’t get angry._

She left the bathroom and saw Draco leaning lazily against the wall. Looking her up and down, his eyes narrowed and he stalked forward, pushing her against the wall. Hermione gasped in shock, staring at his face, which seemed to be almost furious.

He grabbed her arm and held it up to her face. “This makes me very angry.”

Hermione realized quickly that she had forgotten to put her gloves back on, leaving the burn on her arm exposed to view. It had the jagged “S” shape that was characteristic of a Stinging Hex, making it all too clear what had happened to her.

Hermione shoved him away from her. Breathing shakily, she pulled on her gloves and faced Draco Malfoy, whose mouth was in a hard line as he stared at her.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what business it is of yours, _Malfoy,”_ she said sweetly, straightening her dress. “What would it matter to you if I accidentally burn myself?”

“We both know I’m not stupid enough to believe that,” said Draco calmly, beginning to walk back the way they had come.

Hermione ran after him, slipping on the carpet and falling in her ridiculously high heels. A soft cry escaped her mouth as her ankle twisted beneath her.

Draco turned at the sound. Seeing her on the ground, he sighed heavily and walked back to her.

“If you accidentally burned yourself—and we both know that you didn’t, because that injury can only come from a stinging hex—then why didn’t you just heal it afterwards?” he asked innocently. He bent down and picked Hermione up in his arms, setting her on her feet.

Hermione’s face paled with pain as she tried to put weight on her left ankle. Draco pointed his wand at her ankle and healed it instantly, doing the same with her arm.

“Well?” he asked impatiently when she said nothing. “And why couldn’t you just heal your ankle?”

“Thank you for healing my ankle and arm,” she said, walking back to the front door, where Rhys was saying his goodbyes and thank yous to Draco’s parents.

Draco shook his head and followed her.

Hermione said goodbye to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, realizing that she had actually enjoyed the older Malfoys’ company. Narcissa had had intelligent things to say throughout dinner about current events, and she had repeatedly tried to get Hermione involved in the conversation, though Rhys had dismissed anything that Hermione had tried to say.

Draco watched as Rhys pulled Hermione with him through Side-Along Apparition, rather than having her Apparate on her own. This only heightened his suspicions that Hermione either didn’t have a wand or that someone was keeping it from her. He did not like Rhys. There was something smarmy about him, and there was something wrong in his marriage.

Draco was not only a business owner, but also very good at reading people as well. That skill was essential in discovering who would be a good person to do business with. Rhys Morenci had set off many alarm bells, but Draco had purchased his product simply out of a curiosity to get to know him and his wife better. He had been quite surprised to see Hermione Granger (now Hermione Morenci) as Rhys’s wife at a simple business dinner, but had disguised it carefully.

In the two years since they had left Hogwarts, she had changed a lot. Gone was the bushy hair that Draco and his friends had made fun of so often, and the clothes he had seen her wear were nothing like she had ever worn at Hogwarts. He was surprised by the subdued air that she now seemed to have—it was so different from the fiery, Know-It-All personality that she had showed him constantly at Hogwarts.

Draco himself had changed a lot too. After the fall of Lord Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy had returned to his senses and had taught his son respect for all wizards, whether or not they were muggleborns or not. Draco paid close attention to this, as well as his father’s lessons in business policy, because he knew that doing so would result in his father giving him the family business.

 Along with his parents’ lessons in self-control and etiquette, he began to realize for himself that the purity of one’s blood meant next to nothing in the society that they currently lived in. After the Dark Lord’s fall, blood status went out the window, since Voldemort had been defeated by a half-blood, a mudblood, and a blood-traitor. He quickly learned that being a bigot would not help him win people’s hearts—and ultimately, money.

And now, it seemed like some other force had put Hermione Morenci right in front of Draco. Seeing the way her husband had treated her after she spilled the wine had greatly displeased him. His father had taught him to always respect woman, and to see Hermione treated that way—even though he had loathed her in school—filled him with disgust.

~*~

Hermione and Rhys appeared in front of their home with a loud crack. Still reeling from the fact that Draco Malfoy had somehow suspected that Rhys had hurt her, Hermione followed her husband into the house.

“Well, I think overall that went well,” Rhys said quietly once they were in the bedroom. He changed out of his formal robes.

Hermione took off her dress and hung it up in the closet. She put on a tank top and silky pants to wear to bed, hoping that Rhys would have forgotten about her house elf outburst.

Rhys walked over to her, ignoring the flinch that she unconsciously made when he got close.

“Except for the fact that you seem determined to ruin my success with your idiocy,” he continued, shoving her backwards so that she fell onto the bed. “House elves?” he snarled. “You want to bankrupt me because of a HOUSE ELF?!”

“Rhys, I was just—”

Rhys cut her off by covering her mouth roughly with his hand. “Shut the hell up. I put clothes on your back, a roof over your head, jewels on that pretty body of yours, and all I expect in return is a little respect and obedience!”

A hot rush of anger went through Hermione as Rhys began the same rant that he always did whenever she did something “wrong.” She did nothing to fight back, though—realistically, what could she do? She had no wand with which to fight him off.

Rhys yelled until he was exhausted, then he released her. Hermione curled up miserably in bed, dreading what might come next.

“I’m only trying to make you into a better wife and person, my love,” he whispered, pulling her close to him in bed. He kissed along the back of her neck and began rubbing her shoulders. “I’m sorry if it seems a bit harsh, but you know I love you. I love you, sweetheart. I love you.”

Hermione fought back the tears that threatened to fall. Rhys always knew exactly how to confuse her so much, but through all the confusion, one sentence ran through her mind.

“I want this to end.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

The next several days passed without incident for Hermione. Rhys spent most of his days at work, and when he came home was too tired to do much more than make a few biting comments about Hermione’s appearance and the quality of the food she made him. On the fifth day after their dinner at Malfoy Mansion, around noon, Hermione received an owl carrying a letter and package from Rhys.

Hermione dear,  
Dress yourself in this.   
Floo to the Ministry.  
You have an appointment with Cyrus at 7:30 pm tonight.  
Take the potion.  
Love Always,  
Rhys

Hermione’s heart sank when she read the letter from her husband. 

“I’m so sick of this!” she screamed to the empty house. She sat down in a chair. “I’m so sick of this,” she whispered quietly. “This sinking feeling whenever I think he’s going to be nice and then he just does things like this…”

She threw the package aside and spent the day reading in the library. Even Flicker couldn’t cheer her up, and more than ever, Hermione wished that she could talk to Harry. Unfortunately, she had neither parchment nor an owl with which she could send a letter. 

When six o’clock came, Hermione put down her book resignedly and picked up the loathsome package from her equally loathsome husband. Inside was a dress, if you could call it that, and a dark blue potion in a vial. She held up the dress in disgust. It was a light blue scrap of clothing that exposed half of her chest and stomach to the world. She put it on, her eyes tearing up with embarrassment as she looked in the mirror. It fit, but it looked like something a whore would wear. 

“Damn it… I can’t wear this,” she said frantically to the mirror, trying to pull it down past her thighs. “I look like a slut!”

Hermione knew that she would end up doing it though—just for Rhys. There was simply no way to get out of it. She donned her sapphire necklace, put on some makeup, and then looked at the vial of potion that she had been sent. Contraceptive and Anti-STD potion , it read. 

In smaller letters below was the warning label and a notice that the effects of the potion would only last for twenty four hours. Hermione gasped at the price on the bottom. Such a potion cost ten Galleons, and she knew exactly how to perfectly brew the same potion for herself. Rhys, however, refused to allow her to have a potions kit or any ingredients, and his own were magically locked in a room along with Hermione’s old schoolbooks, wand, and other magical things that she used to have. Hermione had tried more than once to get the door open, but without a wand, she was unable to. Even commanding Flicker to open it did not work, for as the owner of the house, Rhys had given her a counter-command not to open that door unless he himself ordered Flicker to. Hermione’s command could not supersede Rhys’s.

Hermione took a deep breath and downed the entire potion in one gulp. It was nearly tasteless, with a slight peppermint tang to it. Golden warmth spread throughout her entire body and then disappeared.

“Well, that’s that,” she muttered. She slipped on black heels and then put a long black cloak on over the dress she was wearing. Perhaps she would be able to talk Cyrus into stopping his copy of Rhys’s invention.Perhaps...

Butterflies crept into her stomach, which cramped up in nervousness. She paced in front of the fireplace for a good fifteen minutes, trying to get up the courage to Floo to the Ministry of Magic. Finally, she heard the front door open as Rhys arrived home at 7:20. Knowing that Rhys would be furious if he found her dallying in front of the fire, Hermione threw Floo powder into the fireplace. “Ministry of Magic!”

She kept her elbows tucked in tightly so that she wouldn’t slam them against the spinning network of fireplaces. It took only a minute before Hermione reappeared inside the Ministry fireplaces.

People milled around the atrium of the Ministry, talking, laughing, and joking amongst themselves. You-Know-Who was gone, so people’s lives were for the most part carefree. Hermione walked quickly past all the happy people and came to elevators. She looked at the long list of names next to the elevators and saw that Roald Cyrus’s office was on floor two. Apparently, he was the head of the Beast Liaison department and as such, had a private office in the Ministry of Magic. She took the elevator to floor two, trying not to think about what she was going to do.

Once on floor two, she stood by the elevator, unable to force herself to walk down the hallways to Cyrus’s office. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Hermione growled to herself. “You have to do this or you know what Rhys will do.” She stood by the elevator, a few tears falling from her eyes. She quickly brushed them away, careful not to smudge her makeup. 

The elevator chimed behind her. “Mrs. Morenci,” said an amused voice.

Hermione spun around. Draco Malfoy exited the elevator behind her. His expression changed instantly from mocking to concerned when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him rudely, furious that he could see her tears and even more furious that he was being nice. She didn’t want nice. Not now. 

“I have business with the Minister. What’s wrong?” he asked gently, all traces of amusement gone.

“N-Nothing,” Hermione said unconvincingly, her anger evaporating and resolve taking its place. She immediately turned and began walking towards Cyrus’s office, in the opposite direction of Draco.

“You can’t keep denying he’s hurting you,” Draco said as he too walked in that direction, right beside her. 

Hermione ignored him and reached the office door with Roald Cyrus’s name carved into it.

“Really?” Draco hissed as he saw Hermione stop outside Cyrus’s door. “This is his way of persuading Cyrus?” He grabbed her wrist when she reached for the door handle in an attempt to get away from him and his prying questions. 

Hermione flinched at his touch and jerked her hand from his grasp. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, you know,” Draco said irritably in response. His eyes widened suddenly as he looked down at Hermione. Her cloak had fallen open, showing the few scraps of clothing she was wearing underneath it. Draco made a supremely heroic effort not to stare.

Hermione swore softly and pulled her cloak closed again. She gazed up at him in sudden fear. “Please, just let me go, okay? Just walk away.” If he kept talking, she knew she would lose her ability to walk into that room.

Draco backed away, worried that his close proximity to her was making her nervous. He did not, however, walk away as she told him to. His gray eyes gazed into her brown ones piercingly. “You don’t have to do this,” he told her, pitying her state. She obviously didn’t want to do what she was doing—if she did, then all she’d have to do was open the door. He was not blocking her way.

Hermione froze in place, not knowing what to do. Despite her attitude, she was unable to force herself to go in that room. Her entire being rebelled against her. She desperately did not want to do this. She did not want Cyrus’s hands on her, did not want to have sex with him.

“I have to,” she said desperately. Her lip was trembling—her anxiety and fear was palpable. Draco doubted she’d be able to go through with whatever Rhys planned for her to do even if she did manage to convince herself to open the door.

“Just walk away,” he told her, echoing her earlier words. “Just walk away from here and from Morenci.”

“Malfoy…I—it’s not that easy, okay?” Hermione said quickly, wondering if she actually did have a way out of this. “I don’t have anything without him!” 

A Ministry of Magic official strode past them and down the hall, which reminded Hermione and Draco exactly where they were having this conversation.

“Come with me,” he urged her, knowing that he could do nothing to help her if she refused to let him. It was very difficult for him to see her in such a state, especially since he knew the fiery personality that she really had. 

Hermione hesitated. She couldn’t go with him! Rhys would absolutely kill her, and worse—she knew he would drag their house elf into it as well. But she simply could not bring herself to open that door and face Roald Cyrus. Maybe Malfoy could help her…could he? They hadn’t exactly been friends in school, so why would he even care now about her distress?

Draco watched Hermione war with herself, wondering whether or not she would give in and go with him. She looked bloody hot in the tight lingerie, but Draco knew as well as Hermione did that she did not want to be wearing anything like that. He had to help her; he just couldn’t help himself. She had been such a firecracker in school, full of life and passion. To see the change from then to now was eerie. How had the Gryffindor lioness he had known turned into a fearful kitten? He had to find out. Why wouldn’t she just admit that she was miserable in her marriage and allow him to help her?

“Come with you where?” she finally asked uncertainly, nervously biting her lip.

“My house.” Seeing Hermione go pale, he said quickly, “If you’re worried about anyone seeing you there, don’t. My parents are vacationing in Ireland and the servants know better than to gossip.”

“Okay,” Hermione said slowly. She hesitantly let go of the door handle. “How do we get there?” 

“Side-Along Apparition,” Draco answered, correctly guessing that she did not have a wand with her.   
Draco put his right arm around Hermione’s shoulders gently, hating Rhys for the flinch that she made when he touched her. 

Hermione could see the distaste on Malfoy’s face when she unconsciously flinched. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t because of him, it was because of Rhys, but before she could say a word, Malfoy spun them in place. A loud CRACK sounded as the two of them vanished into thin air.

Ten minutes later, the door they had been standing outside of opened to reveal Cyrus himself looking very irritated that his “client” had not arrived on time. He slammed the door again and picked up a quill to write a very nasty letter to Rhys Morenci.

Hermione and Draco reappeared inside the drawing room of Malfoy Mansion. Hermione immediately stepped away from Draco’s arm. 

“Do you want some other clothes to wear instead of that…’dress?’” Draco asked, concealing a smirk as he said the word “dress.”

“Okay,” replied Hermione quietly.

“I’ll be right back.”

Hermione sat down on the burgundy sofa shakily, her head in her hands. Had she just left Rhys? Was she going to leave Rhys? What would Rhys say if she didn’t come home? What would he do if he found out that she had been alone with Malfoy? Terrible thoughts ran through the girl’s mind and in just a few minutes she had worked herself into tears.

Draco came back into the room a few minutes later, carrying some of his mother’s old clothes. The second he entered the room, he saw Hermione crying nearly hysterically on the sofa. Tears poured from her eyes as she sat upright, her arms clamped around her small body.

He dropped the clothes on the coffee table and immediately went to her side. He sat down beside her, debating inwardly about whether putting his arm around her would scare her or comfort her.

“Hermione,” he said, calling her by her first name for the first time in his life. In school he had always called her “mudblood” or “Granger,” neither of which were appropriate now, and calling her “Mrs. Morenci” probably would not help anything at the moment. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Talk to me.”

Hermione tried desperately to stop crying, knowing that she was making a fool out of herself. It took her several minutes, but she finally managed to stem the tide of her tears. Having someone who cared (it was strange to think of Draco Malfoy as caring about her, but he seemed to…) sitting next to her made it easier, though she was grateful that he didn’t try to touch her.

When she was finally calm, Draco tried again. “Talk to me. What’s bothering you the most?”

“Am I leaving Rhys?” she asked him. “What do I do?”

Draco was shocked into silence that she would ask him such a question and trust him to answer it honestly and without bias. He waited a few moments to reply, choosing his words carefully. 

Hermione said nothing while she waited, her tear-swollen eyes fixed on his clear gray ones. 

“I can’t tell you what to do, Hermione—whatever you decide has to be your choice. Having said that, I’ve only been with you three times so far, and I can tell that he is destroying you. He doesn’t treat you like an equal to him.” Draco tried to make his words as gentle as possible, but he was unable to prevent the silent tears that slid from her eyes. “Where’s your wand? Why does he keep you from anything magical? Denying you healing when you’ve been hurt—by him, no less—is downright cruel. Does he treat you any better than he treats your house elf?”

“No,” Hermione whispered. “But I can’t leave him! He has my wand, my spellbooks—everything! And I don’t have any family I can go to. I haven’t spoken to Harry or Ron in ages. Where would I live? I have no money, no job, nothing. I can’t leave him because he’s the only thing I have.”

“There are other things out there,” Draco replied softly, gently placing his hand on top of hers. Hermione flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. “You can get your spellbooks and wand back. You can get a job and buy a place of your own. You’re a caged bird, Hermione; I can open the door to let you escape, but you have to choose to fly away.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“ And if you don’t want or can’t afford to live alone, you can definitely stay here.”

Hermione gaped at him, her tears forgotten in her shock at what he had just said. “Here?”

“We have more than enough space,” Draco said sincerely. “And Rhys cannot hurt you here.”

As if to contradict that, a sudden crack came in the silence, followed by strange hiccupping as a house elf appeared in the center of the room. “Please forgive Flicker, Mistress,” sobbed the house elf, who disappeared a second later.

Draco stared dumbly at the spot where the elf had disappeared. Seconds later, a loud banging came from the front of the house. “Wait here,” he said to Hermione, who nodded, confused.

Draco walked quickly to the front door and opened it. Rhys stood there, spitting mad. His usually well-groomed hair was mussed and looked like he had been repeatedly running his fingers through it. 

“Forgive me, Mr. Malfoy,” Rhys said through his teeth, striving for politeness as he stood in obvious fury. “Is my wife there, by any chance?”

Fighting the urge to blast the man off his feet with an Unforgivable Curse, Draco replied, “Why would you think that she is in my house?”

“I sent my house elf to find her,” Rhys answered angrily. He tried to look over Draco’s shoulder, bellowing, “Hermione!” 

Hermione came quickly and fearfully to the front door. 

“What are you doing here?” Rhys growled. His efforts at trying to seem cool and collected were failing miserably.

“Rhys!” Hermione gasped, walking to his side as he beckoned her with a shaking hand. “I—I just—”

“We’ll discuss this later,” was the snarled response. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, for finding my wayward wife. She won’t be troubling you again.” He grabbed Hermione’s arm roughly and began dragging her towards the gates of Malfoy Mansion.

“I can only open the door,” Draco called after Hermione. “You have to walk through.” 

Rhys nodded, thinking that he was talking about the wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Mansion. Hermione, however, knew that he was referencing their earlier conversation.

Draco stood in the doorway and watched as Hermione and Rhys left his property. He sighed in resignation and reentered his mansion, deciding that the best way to end such a terrible day was to enjoy a nice glass of Scotch.

 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Rhys screamed the second they reappeared in their home. He let go of Hermione and shoved her into the china cabinet next to the kitchen. Tinkling sounds came from the cabinet as fragile objects broke inside. Her cloak slipped down her shoulders and tangled between her legs. She cried out in pain and fell to the floor. “What the fuck happened?”

“Rhys, I just couldn’t do it,” Hermione said, terrified, crawling backwards from him as she tried to avoid the broken china. “I’m so so sorry. I—”

Whatever she had been about to say was cut off as Rhys slapped her hard in the face.

The beating continued for several minutes until Hermione passed out. Rhys’s anger slowly faded and he dragged a chair over by the ruined china cabinet. He leaned back into the chair, sitting quite close to Hermione’s still body, and poured a glass of wine, which he drank slowly while blood slowly dripped from the nose and mouth of his wife.

“I just needed you to do one thing, you insolent little bitch,” he said absentmindedly, looking down upon her almost fondly. “It wasn’t even that big of a deal, but you had to leave and go to Malfoy Mansion for some reason. Did you really think that he would protect you? If anything, he would certainly sympathize with me, for I’m the one who has to put up with such a disobedient young wife. Ha! He would even applaud my patience with you! Oh, Hermione…perhaps I should take you St. Mungo’s.” He nudged Hermione’s body with his toe, turning her on her back to examine her. “Yes, this could provide some publicity. I saved you from…hmmm…” He lazily swirled his glass of wine as he thought about how he could best slant Hermione’s injuries to make him seem the hero. “Home invasion! Someone came in here, beat you up, and stole…that stupid blasted sapphire necklace you’re so fond of wearing.” Rhys leaned down and yanked on the necklace Harry had given her, breaking the chain and tucking it in his pocket. He tilted the glass to drain the rest of its contents and smashed it on the ground to further bolster the home invasion charade. After a few more finishing touches to the house, Rhys put an expression of shock and fear on his face, grabbed his wife’s arm, and apparated to St. Mungo’s Hospital.

Just twenty minutes later, Rhys was speaking to reporters about Hermione’s injuries and how he had heroically saved her. Footage of Rhys’s interviews and photos of Hermione’s injuries were run almost immediately on channel 62442, the wizarding tv channel that could be reached using a wand on any muggle television. 

Draco Malfoy, watching absently as he waited for the Quidditch game to come back on, straightened up instantly as the breaking news story came on the screen. “We’re live with Rhys Morenci, prominent business owner and inventor of the Insta-Message, who came home from a day of work to find his wife lying injured in the living room of his estate,” said the blonde reporter, an appropriately somber look on her face. “Hermione Morenci, his wife, suffered a severe beating—we have been told by Healers that she has a broken nose, arm, and ankle, as well as numerous bruises and cuts that came from the broken glass of the cabinet she was thrown into. Several pieces of jewelry were stolen, including a sapphire pendant, which appears to have been forcibly removed from Hermione Morenci’s neck. The Magical Law Enforcement Squad has no suspects as of yet, but they have assured us that they will be doing their utmost to find the culprit and bring him to justice.”

Draco snapped off the TV, angrier than he had been in a long time. He grabbed his wand and prepared to apparate to St. Mungo’s to pay his friend Rhys Morenci a little visit.


	4. Chapter Four

Just a few moments after Rhys finished his interview in front of St. Mungo’s, Hermione blinked a few times as she came to, feeling a strange sensation of floating. Painkilling potions. She glanced around, realizing that she was in a hospital room full of people. Rhys had brought her to the hospital after beating her so terribly? But why? She looked down to see that her previously-broken arm was perfectly healed. Her shattered ankle was splinted and bandaged. She felt her nose gingerly, relieved to feel that it was whole and unbroken once more. Rhys rushed in the door and to her side, followed by two reporters with their cameras floating behind them.

“Hermione, my love, you’re awake!” Rhys cried, taking the hand of her unbroken arm in his own. “How do you feel?”

Hermione’s brain felt very fuzzy, and she giggled. Despite remembering everything that Rhys had done to her, she was strangely jovial. It must be a side effect of the potions they had evidently given to her.

A microphone was pressed right up to her lips. “Miss Morenci, did you see who did this to you?” one of the reporters, a handsome young man with sparkling blue eyes, asked concernedly.

“Um...” she slurred, wondering why they were asking her this. She looked up at Rhys. What story had he come up with to explain her injuries this time? He had taken her to the hospital, but what had he told them? If she didn’t play along, she knew that the repercussions would be even worse than they already were.

Rhys quickly spoke up, placing his hand over his wife’s mouth. “She is under the influence of heavy painkillers. She probably shouldn’t be answering any questions that could lead to the false arrest of an innocent man.” He pasted a look of concern on his face as he stroked Hermione’s hand.

The reporter’s protest was cut off as the doors to the hospital ward were suddenly blasted open by two men in black robes with the shining silver Auror badge on them. They looked perfectly awake and alert, even for this late hour of the night.

Through her drug-induced state, Hermione instantly recognized who they were, and tears came to her eyes. She whispered their names in disbelief. One of the cameras, trained on her face instead of the Aurors, captured her elated expression and glistening eyes on film.

“Can she be released now?” asked the shorter of the two Aurors. He had jet black hair and piercing emerald eyes, as well as a quite recognizable scar on his forehead.

The Healer, open-mouthed as he stared at the war hero in front of him, nodded. “She j-just needs to stay off her ankle for the rest of the night. By tomorrow she’ll be fine, Mr. Potter.”

The other man, a tall redhead, aimed his wand directly at Rhys’s heart. “Make one move and it’ll be your last,” he warned Rhys.

The cameras were rolling as the reporters stared in awe at the scene unfolding in front of them—and they were getting an exclusive view of it all!

“You’re the lowest form of life on this earth, Morenci,” growled Ron Weasley.

“We’ve let this go on long enough,” Harry Potter said, shoving Rhys against a wall and briskly patting him down for weapons or Dark Objects. He felt and removed Rhys’s wand, but then he felt another object in the wizard’s pocket. He pulled it out and turned around to face Ron, holding up the sparkling sapphire pendant with a broken clasp.

“Is the necklace that was ‘stolen’ from your house, you smarmy bastard?” Ron said quietly, gently putting his hand on Hermione’s shoulder to reassure her, for she looked very frightened.

“I—it must have—” Rhys stammered nonsensically, trying to explain how the necklace that had been yanked from Hermione’s throat had ended up in his pocket.

“Anson, Gelford, Dawson, get in here!” ordered Harry. Three members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad came into the room and swiftly bound Rhys’s arms behind his back. “Take this vermin to Azkaban to await trial.”

Rhys tried to protest, but he was quickly bustled from the room with few words.

Harry and Ron quickly cleared the room after that—there was no argument made by the reporters, whose careers had just been greatly advanced by such an exclusive recording of the arrest of a prominent businessman by Harry Potter himself.

“Harry! Ron!” cried Hermione once everyone else had been ushered from the room. She awkwardly tried to sit up, but the painkillers had made her weak.

The door opened quietly, unnoticed by the three, but it closed again after a few seconds. Draco Malfoy, having peeked in the room and seen that Hermione was clearly not going to be going back under Rhys’s power, disapparated immediately. There were other things he needed to take care of that were essential if Hermione were to keep her freedom—things that Potter and Weasley wouldn’t think of right away.

  “Reparo,”   Harry whispered, and Hermione watched in delight as her necklace was magically repaired. Harry gently refastened it around her neck. “Come on, Hermione—you’re coming with us.”

Ron picked her up easily in his arms and disapparated at the same time that Harry did.

Hermione slipped back into sleep during the apparition, as the painkillers were making her very sleepy. When she woke up again, she was being carried by Ron through a small house into a living room that had a bed made up on the pull-out sofa. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. Ron pulled back the blankets and placed her gently on the bed. Sleepily she wrapped her arms around him.

“Where am I?” she asked, blinking slowly. “I really missed you guys.”

“You’re at Harry’s house,” Ron replied, easing himself into edge of the bed to sit next to Hermione so that her hug wouldn’t be disturbed. “Don’t worry, Hermione. You’ll never have to deal with that awful man again.”

Worry began to bubble up in Hermione’s stomach, but it was dulled by the painkillers.

Harry came into the room, a relieved look on his face when he saw Hermione awake and talking. “Tomorrow, I’ll go to your house to get your things,” he told her, resting his hand on hers. “You’ll have to give me a general idea of what you want and where it is, but that way you won’t have to go there yourself, okay?”

“It’s all locked in the room next to the library,” she murmured. Ron’s eyes snapped with anger as he heard for the first time that Hermione had been kept from all things magical. “My wand, schoolbooks…” Her voice grew quieter and quieter as she began to fall asleep, unable to fight the medicine any longer. “—don’t want any of my clothes—all picked out by…him…”

Ron and Harry looked down upon the sleeping young woman, who looked so trouble-free in sleep.

“We shouldn’t have waited this long, Harry,” Ron said guiltily, gently trying to remove her arms from around his waist. “We should have gone and gotten her the first time she was in Mungo’s.”

“I know, mate,” Harry replied, watching Hermione’s chest rise and fall slowly with her breaths. “But you know that she kept denying that he was hurting her.”

“It really pisses me off to see her like this.” Ron gave up on trying to make Hermione let go; her fingers were like iron. 

“We’re going to Morenci’s trial,” Harry said angrily, grabbing two bottles of butterbeer from the kitchen. He gave one to Ron. “He won’t be out of Azkaban for many many years.”

Ron drank deeply from his bottle, sighing. “How long are you going to let her stay here?”

“As long as she needs,” replied Harry, his face set. “I don’t think she’s going to be emotionally secure enough on her own right now, and she doesn’t have a job or anything. I don’t think Ginny will mind, but I do need to talk to her about it.”

Ron nodded. “She won’t mind. She’ll be glad to have another girl here to talk to about your wedding plans.”

The two men lapsed into a comfortable silence. The Trio was together again.

“What do you think happened to make Morenci hurt her so badly?” Ron asked, a trace of despair showing for the first time in their conversation.

“I have no idea,” Harry replied. Once more the thought ran through his head that he could have stopped this if he only had realized what was going on sooner than he did.

“Look how she’s dressed, Harry,” said Ron, noticing for the first time what was under the plain white hospital robe. The tie on the robe had come loose, allowing Harry and Ron a perfect view of the blue dress under it.

“What the hell?” Harry exclaimed quietly. The dress had been cleaned of blood and put back on Hermione in accordance with St. Mungo’s policy of making patients as comfortable as possible by allowing them to wear the clothes they had come in wearing.

Ron flushed red as he saw the extent to which Hermione’s body was exposed in the dress she was wearing. “Why is she wearing this? She would   never   wear something like this!”

“She did say that Rhys picked out all her clothes,” Harry pointed out, averting his eyes.

“She can wear some of Ginny’s clothes when she wakes up. They’re like the same size,” said Ron, pulling the comforter of the bed up to cover her.

Harry stared at Ron, his eyebrows raised. His best friend clearly knew nothing about women or clothing sizes. “Ginny’s not the same size as Hermione, Ron. She’s shorter and more petite.”

Ron blushed again, not wanting to think about how intimately Harry knew his sister. “Well whatever then. We’ll just have to figure something else out.”

“Harry?” said a sleepy voice. Ginny stood on the floor above them, leaning on the balcony. She had clearly just stumbled out of bed. “Where were you?”

“Be right up, Ginny. G’night, Ron,” Harry said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “I’m going to explain things to Ginny. You can stay here tonight if you want. It’s late.”

“’Night, Harry,” Ron replied, finishing his butterbeer. He finally managed to untangle Hermione’s arms from around his waist. Kissing her lightly on the forehead, he settled himself in a squashy armchair that was directly across from the sofa so that he could keep watching Hermione until he fell asleep.

At the exact moment that Ron fell asleep, a terrific blast shattered the quiet of the night on the street where Rhys Morenci’s mansion was located. Draco Malfoy, smirking with the enjoyment that can only come from blowing something up, stepped carefully into the house, avoiding the broken glass and the now-ruined front door. It took him only a few moments to locate the only locked door in the house.

  “Alohomora,”   he said, watching in satisfaction as the door unlocked with a click. He walked inside and collected the numerous items in there, including a wand, numerous spellbooks, a cauldron, and potions ingredients.

With a simple but incredibly useful spell, Draco packaged up the items into several neat bundles. He summoned a few of his many owls and sent them to deliver the packages to Hermione Morenci. Next, he went to Hermione’s closet in the master bedroom and examined the sizes of the clothes that were in there. Committing them to memory, he disapparated quickly from the house, not bothering to repair the front door, which looked like an elephant had stormed right through it. The night was silent once more.

 

Hermione did not wake up when the sun began to rise. She did not wake up when Ron woke up and accidentally knocked his empty bottle from the night before on the floor. She did not wake up when Harry and Ginny came down the stairs together, holding hands. She remained in a deep sleep even while the delicious smell of sizzling bacon permeated the house. She did, however, wake up when a total of fourteen large owls flew into the room and dropped numerous packages onto her lap, followed by three more carrying letters.

“What’s this?” she murmured, sleepy and bemused. She sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes.

Ron came over quickly, abandoning the bacon he was in the middle of cooking. “It could be booby-trapped!” he cried, pointing his wand at the packages. He tried to remember the spell to check for letter-bombs and other assorted mail threats, but the failure was evident on his face.

“Let me borrow your wand,” Hermione said eagerly, wanting to use magic freely for herself.

Ron gave her his wand, his face red with shame. “I know the spell—I just can’t think of it…”

  “Comminatio Revelio!” Nothing happened. Hermione grinned. “Nope. No booby traps.” She gave the wand back to Ron. Her grin faded as she remembered the events of the night before.

Ron, sensing her spirits fall, tried to take her mind off things. “What’s in the packages?” His question had the desired effect as Hermione’s curiosity distracted her from thinking about Rhys.

“I don’t know,” she mused, turning one of them over. “Should I open the letters first?”

Ron shook his head. “Letters are boring. Open the packages first!”

Hermione began to tear the paper off the first one, asking as she did so, “Where’s Harry?”

“He’s at the wedding planner’s office with Ginny,” Ron said, his tone making it clear how boring he found that. “He’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Oh my God,” whispered Hermione. She held up a wand, which had been in the first, smallest package. “It’s my wand.”

Ron stared.

Hermione ripped open the next four packages, which were very heavy. “My spellbooks!” she cried, her eyes and face lit up with happiness. The next package contained the rest of the things that Rhys had confiscated from her.

“This is all of my stuff,” she told Ron, her voice soft. “Who could have sent all this to me?”

Ron shrugged, just as bewildered as she was. Concerned that the textbooks were too heavy for her, he picked them up and stacked them neatly on the bottom shelf of the bookshelf, which was quite empty.

“What’s in the last three boxes, then?” Ron asked her as he came back to sit next to her. “Did you order anything?”

“Of course not,” replied Hermione, deep in thought. “Rhys would never let—” Tears sprang to her eyes as she said his name.

“No, no, Hermione,” Ron said quickly. He gently rubbed her arm.

Willing herself not to think about Rhys just yet, Hermione opened the next box. Inside were regular black robes for everyday wear and elegantly-cut women’s dress robes in a deep blue. She gasped. She opened the next two boxes, exclaiming excitedly at the contents. One of the boxes had several pairs of muggle jeans, as well as muggle t-shirts and tennis shoes. The third box contained modest bras and underwear that were in exactly her size.

“That’s just creepy,” Ron grumbled, displeased that he hadn’t been the one to think of doing this for his friend.

Hermione climbed out of bed, pulling the hospital gown tightly around her. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Ron showed her, and Hermione brought along some of the clothes. She came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, smiling brightly at Ron, who forgot about his frustration and grinned back. She was wearing dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt that had a large lion and the word “GRYFFINDOR” on the front. The clothes fit her perfectly.

“Very nice,” Ron said, smiling. “Very…Gryffindor.”

Hermione laughed and curtseyed jokingly.

“Where are your old clothes?” Ron asked.

“In the trash can,” Hermione said grimly. “I wonder who sent me these things. Maybe it’ll say in the letters. But first, this place is a mess.” Packaging from the boxes was everywhere, as well as a few feathers that had fallen from one of the owls, which had obviously been molting at the time of delivery. She vanished the trash and then magically folded the bed back into the sofa. “I love magic,” she sighed.

Ron laughed out loud, amazed at how happy she looked compared to the last time he had seen her. He sat close beside her on the sofa. Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder as she opened the first letter, which bore the Ministry of Magic crest on it.

“What is it?” Ron asked impatiently as Hermione pulled out many sheets of thick parchment.

“Um, they’re forms for something,” she replied, glancing through them. “But they’ve already been filled out by someone—oh my God, they’re divorce papers.”

Ron snatched the papers from Hermione’s suddenly numb fingers. “They are! But someone’s already filled them out for you.”

And indeed, every line of every page had been filled out accurately and fully with in glittering emerald ink with a perfect, slanting script. On the final page, a paragraph had been written detailing the abuse that Hermione had endured from Rhys, and requesting that retribution be paid to her.

“Is the handwriting…” Ron trailed off, not wanting to say Rhys’s name if it would upset Hermione.

“No, I’ve never seen it before.”

Hermione scanned the entire sheaf of papers—everything had been filled out correctly, and all that was missing was her signature in various places. “Ron, do I sign them?”

“Of course!” he said emphatically, summoning a quill from the kitchen. “What else would you do, go back with him?”

“No, but I—Ron, I just don’t know,” Hermione pleaded, looking quite terrified.

Her friend relaxed his angry pose and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “I’m here for you—and so are Harry and Ginny and my whole family. But none of us are going to let you go back to him. He’s hurt you too badly.”

Hermione said nothing, but she snuggled close to Ron, holding onto his arms tightly.

“Hermione, what happened last night?” he asked her gently, wanting to know the story behind the dress and her injuries.

Hermione stalled for time while she signed the divorce forms. After some more hesitation, she quietly relayed the events of the past week that had led up to the climax of the night before. When she finished, she was in tears and Ron’s face was set as he tried to keep his emotions in check when all he really wanted to do was apparate to Azkaban to blast Rhys Morenci into oblivion. “It’s all over now,” he said quietly, hugging her as tightly as he could.

When Hermione recovered, she opened the next letter, which had a golden key inside with the letter. It was a letter from Gringotts Bank, thanking her for opening her bank account and informing her that her current balance was the considerable sum of fifty thousand Galleons. “Merlin’s beard,” Ron swore. “Who have   you   become friends with lately?”

“I have no idea who could have done this,” Hermione said, awed and driven almost to tears by the incredible things that this person had done for her. Hoping that the last letter would provide some clarification, she tore it open, revealing just one sheet of parchment, on which the following words were written—in the same writing as that which the divorce papers had been filled out in:   “Fly Free.”  

“What does that mean?” Ron was saying confusedly, but Hermione didn’t even hear him as she suddenly realized who had done all this for her.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said quietly, her lips numb with shock. 

“What?”

“Draco Malfoy did all this,” she clarified. Ron was dumbfounded.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, completely and utterly confused.

So Hermione told him everything that had happened between her and Malfoy.

Ron stared at her the entire time in utter disbelief. When Hermione finished talking, Ron just stared at her, unmoving. It was at this precise moment that Harry and Ginny came back. They came through the door laughing and talking merrily to each other. When they saw Ron, however, both of them halted their conversation.

“Wow, Hermione, what did you do to him?” Ginny giggled, waving her hand in front of Ron’s face.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied, trying not to laugh at the frozen expression on Ron’s face.

Harry shook Ron’s shoulder. “Come on, mate, what’s up?”

Ron shook off Harry’s hand, removed his arm from around Hermione’s shoulders, and stood up. “I—she just—not possible for…just…” And he left the house, mumbling to himself.

“What did you tell him?” Harry asked curiously. Ginny wrapped her arm around her fiancé’s slim waist and waited impatiently for Hermione to reply.

“I just told him about Draco Malfoy,” Hermione replied slowly, wondering if Ron was mad at her. Her eyes were large and sad.

“What about him?”

Hermione filled Harry and Ginny in on the recent events that had gone on between her and Malfoy. When she finished this time, Harry was staring at her much in the same way that Ron had. Ginny, on the other hand, clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh, Hermione, that’s so sweet!” she cried. Her straight hair was pulled back into a long French braid that looked very elegant on her slender frame. She was wearing just black robes, she looked so radiantly happy by Harry’s side that she could have been wearing all the finery of a queen. Harry, likewise, looked to be very happy with his fiancé. There was a sparkle in his green eyes that Hermione hadn’t seen since long before that deadly final battle.

Hermione felt a strange twinge of loneliness. She would never have that with another man. She was a divorcee now. No one wanted to be with someone else’s “sloppy seconds,” as Rhys had frequently reminded her.

Ginny’s expectant look reminded Hermione that she was in the middle of a conversation.

“It is really sweet,” admitted Hermione. “He’s done some great things for me today.”

“Have you mailed the divorce papers yet?” asked Harry, snapping out of his shock.

“No—they’re right here.”

Harry examined the papers carefully, making sure everything looked to be in order. “Just checking to make sure that Malfoy didn’t put some clause in here about owning you forever or something of that sort,” he mumbled when she asked him what he was doing.

Ginny shook her head in exasperation. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” she said warmly and excitedly to Hermione. “I’d love to have someone to help me with the wedding plans, if you feel up to it.”

“Of course!” replied Hermione. “Are you sure it won’t be a bother? I just have to get some things settled and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Stay as long as you want,” Harry insisted, putting an arm around her. “We’ve really missed you.”

“I missed you too, Harry,” Hermione whispered, hugging her friend.

When they let go of each other, Ron was standing there, a sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry I got a little upset, Hermione—I was just a little surprised is all.”

Hermione accepted his apology instantly and drew him into a warm hug, burying her face into his neck and inhaling his familiar, comforting smell. She didn’t notice Harry pulling Ginny away to the kitchen to allow the two of them some privacy.

“I missed you so much, Hermione,” Ron whispered, a lump in his throat as he rubbed her back tenderly. “So, so much.”

Tears slowly fell from Hermione’s eyes as she was held in the arms of someone who truly loved and cared about her for the first time in so long.

The sweet embrace ended much too soon for Ron’s liking, but he resisted the urge to pull her back into his arms.

“I’d better owl those forms back to the Ministry now,” Hermione said softly, wiping her tears away. She seemed unaware of the effect she had just had on Ron.

“Of course,” Ron said throatily, calling his black owl over. Hermione gave the letter to the owl, which soared gracefully out the window. “So, what do you want to do today?” he asked.

“I’d actually like to borrow some parchment,” she said hesitantly. “I’m sorry I keep needing things from you. I promise I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“No, no,” Ron was quick to say, “don’t even think about it. It’s fine—anything I can do to help you I will. I should have been there for you sooner.”

Hermione gently rubbed his arm, trying to make his look of pain go away.

When Ron had given her the parchment and quill, she made a list for herself of things that she needed to do.

Ron laughed when he saw what she was doing.

 “What?” she snapped defensively. 

“Just…it’s just that you’re doing exactly what you used to do,” he said, smiling at the knowledge that she hadn’t changed THAT much—she was still the Hermione he had known and loved.

“Of course I am.”

Ron smiled broadly and watched over her shoulder while she wrote.

The two of them spent the rest of the day with Harry, catching up on things they had missed. While they talked, Ginny spent the day at the Burrow, helping her mother get some reparations made on the house. Now that all of Molly’s children were out of the house (except for Ron), she needed help once in a while getting things done.

When it became dinnertime and Ginny had returned, Ron impressed Hermione by grilling chicken for all of them. It was delicious, and Ron flushed bright red at Hermione’s compliments. Harry watched amusedly as Ron did his best to dominate Hermione’s attention, trying to make her laugh at his jokes and witty comments. Harry could see, however, that Hermione was oblivious to the fact that Ron had developed some serious feelings for her. He hoped that Ron would see that it was best to give her time to get over Rhys, for he knew that if Ron pushed too hard now, it could prove disastrous for both of them.

After dinner, Ron left Harry’s house and Flooed to the Burrow, promising Hermione that he would be back the next day.

“How do you feel?” Harry asked her quietly, once Ginny had gone upstairs to start getting ready for bed. Harry had promised her that he’d be up shortly.

Hermione looked almost dazed. “I feel—overwhelmed,” she replied, surprising herself with the word she had used.

Harry, however, nodded in understanding. “I know.”

“Did you feel like this after you got back from your summer in isolation for Auror training?” she asked, trying to explain how she felt. “I missed you guys so much, but I just feel a little overwhelmed because I haven’t really talked to anyone but Rhys in so long.”

“I felt exactly like that. The feeling will pass,” promised Harry. “Especially when you’re surrounded by people you love and who love you back. And speaking of which…” He trailed off, wanting to talk to Hermione about Ron. He didn’t want to ruin things for Ron, though. Once she was ready again for a relationship, he could tell that Ron would be perfect for Hermione. He would love her unconditionally, be kind to her, and most of all, he wouldn’t stifle her personality. He decided to keep quiet for the moment, but Hermione was looking expectantly at him. “We all love you,” he finished, somewhat lamely.

It didn’t matter to Hermione, though, and she gave him a grateful hug goodnight.

Once Harry had gone upstairs to join Ginny, Hermione began to write a letter on parchment.

  Draco Malfoy,

I thank you with all my heart for all that you have done for me, but I have to ask: Why? Why do all this for me? I simply can’t accept such a large sum of money from you without knowing what you expect in return.

Sincerely,

Hermione   (here there was a scratched out word that had said “Morenci”)   Granger

P.S.: in case you were wondering, I signed and returned the divorce forms to the Ministry of Magic.  

 

Ron’s owl, quietly preening its feathers, was perched on top of the lamp in Harry’s living room, clearly not realizing that its owner had returned to the Burrow. Hermione gently stroked the bird’s head and gave it the letter to take to Draco Malfoy. The owl flew off into the night on silent wings.

Stifling a yawn, Hermione turned off the light and fell into a comfortable sleep on the bed.


	5. Chapter Five

The next few days passed without event for Hermione. Harry and Ron worked most of the days, but she spent her evenings with Ron and occasionally Harry. She spent the days trying to find a place for her to live so that she wouldn’t have to keep imposing on Harry. Harry insisted that he didn’t mind having Hermione living with him and Ginny, but Hermione felt awkward with the whole situation, especially since Harry and Ginny were about to get married. She was sure that they wanted to be alone with each other.

The house search was going well; Hermione had met with a realtor about renting a small house near Wiltshire that she had particularly liked from the advertisement. The cost was modest and affordable—a mere 50 Galleons a month, which Hermione could afford, thanks to Draco’s gift to her. The only holdup with the situation was that Hermione needed to have the divorce papers completely filed and finalized before she could rent the apartment in her own name.

Hermione still had not received a reply from Draco Malfoy, and it had been three days since she had sent him the letter. She wondered if he was even going to reply at all. Maybe he had decided to revert back to his previous self—the one who had tried to make her life hell at Hogwarts. Immediately after she had that thought, she felt bad for thinking it. Draco had shown her nothing but kindness in the past couple weeks.

“Hermione,” called Ron, walking through the door of Harry’s house. He muttered a quick drying spell, as it was raining hard outside. “It’s really coming down out there!”

“I’m in here,” Hermione replied, looking up from her book to watch Ron enter the room, grinning. 

“You have a letter!” he sang out cheerfully, tossing the slightly damp envelope on her lap. Like the letter that her divorce forms had come in, this one also had the Ministry of Magic crest on it.

Hermione Granger,  
Your divorce has now been finalized by the chief of the Wizengamot. Decisions regarding monetary and property distributions will be made at the trial involving your ex-husband, Rhys Morenci, which will take place on May 9 at 8 a.m. in room 812 of the Ministry of Magic. We hope you have a pleasant day. 

“Excellent!” cheered Ron, rubbing Hermione’s shoulders. “Now you can get that apartment! Are you going to go to the trial? It’s in a week!”

“Of course I am,” Hermione assured him, her face pale at the thought of seeing Rhys again, even if she was surrounded by her friends.

Ron didn’t notice the look on his friend’s face, which was one of fear and worry. He plowed on, “That slimy bastard is finally going to get what he deserves! Me and Harry will be there too, and we’re Aurors, so whatever we say is listened to, and he’s definitely—”

Hermione’s hands shook unnoticeably as she stopped listening to what Ron was saying. This is really happening, she thought nervously to herself. What if he gets out on probation or something? Oh, I should never have left him. I— Her thoughts were interrupted as Ron, caught up in his excitement, leaned in and kissed her enthusiastically on the lips. 

His arms were gentle around her. His Auror-trained, muscled body pressed close against hers, and his kiss was fervent, but not forceful. All the same, she felt trapped in his arms. His tall frame was looming over her. All she could see or think of was Rhys Morenci. Her stomach churned with revulsion and she pushed him away as hard as she could. Ron stumbled backwards as shock, hurt, and regret dominated his face in turns. Her eyes wide and panicked as those of a frightened doe, Hermione backed up from him and disapparated on the spot.

Hermione reappeared moments later outside the place that she wanted to rent. One of the things she had liked best about the little house was the fact that it stood alone on a hill. It was right in the middle of a beautiful landscape, with no one nearby to bother her. The only building within eyesight was a large mansion far in the distance at the base of the mountains across the meadow. Ron had kissed her, she could think of nowhere else to go, so that was where she had chosen to apparate to. It was still pouring rain, however, and Hermione was just wearing jeans and a pink long-sleeved top. 

She was so upset that she didn’t even notice the rain beating down upon her. She left the road and started walking blindly over the rolling fields towards the trees in the distance. What had she done? What had Ron done? Why did she feel so repulsed by his kiss, when by all reasons she should have liked it? Poor Ron—it wasn’t fair that he had to keep getting rejected. Rhys would not be happy once he heard about this…

Tears mixed with the water streaming down her face as she stumbled to her knees under a tree. Part of her brain was telling her that it was unwise to hide under a tree in the middle of a thunderstorm, but she paid no attention to that thought. What was she going to do? Fear, uncertainty, sadness, confusion, and anger roiled through her entire soaking wet body. 

Though she had taken shelter under a tree, the wind was blowing so fiercely that she was still being pelted by rain. She curled up into a ball under the tree, her face pressed into the wet grass. The ground seemed to be pulsing with its own heartbeat, racing with hers. Indeed, the ground was pounding with some sort of motion, but she was so lost in misery that she did not notice. The thudding stopped suddenly, and Hermione thought she heard someone calling her name. The wind, however, carried the sound far from her and she did not hear it clearly.

Hermione did feel, though, the very warm hand that was placed on her arm. The hand felt like it was burning hot, but then she realized how very drenched and cold she was. She lifted her face from the grass, not knowing or caring who it was that had touched her. It could have been a psychopathic stalker, a murderer, a rapist, a child molester.

But it was none of the above. It was Draco Malfoy. His blond hair was soaking wet and plastered down on his head, but he looked anything but bedraggled. His gray eyes were bright with energy. He had clearly been out horseback riding, as evidenced by the reins he held that were attached to the bridle of a magnificent black gelding. The thudding of the horse’s hooves must have been making the noise that she had heard pulsating through the ground.

Hermione stared at him from the ground, her expression dull and full of abject misery. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying so much, and she was completely soaked.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, clearly shocked by her appearance. He held out his hand to her.

Hermione said nothing and made no move to take his hand.

“I’m not going to sit in the wet, muddy grass with you, so you might as well get up and come with me,” Draco reasoned, his hand still held out patiently.

A small smile peeked out from her lips when she imagined Draco sitting on the muddy ground in the expensive-looking robes he was wearing. The smile disappeared as soon as it had appeared, and she hesitantly put her freezing cold hand in his large warm one, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Merlin, you’re freezing!” he exclaimed. 

“I’ve been out here awhile,” she admitted hoarsely.

Draco shook his head disbelievingly and gracefully mounted his horse. “Come with me?” 

Hermione just looked at him, not able to think very clearly at the moment. Draco reached down, took her hand, and swung her up on the horse behind him, smirking at the tiny shriek of surprise she let out. “Put your arms around my waist,” he directed, wincing as her cold skin touched his warm arms.  
Hermione did as he said, holding on to his lean body as tightly as she could. Even though her grip was firm, she couldn’t help but gasp as the horse let out an excited neigh and took off across the grass. She buried her face in the back of Draco’s robes, trying not to fall off as the horse surged up and down beneath her. The motion of the horse as he galloped was exhilarating, almost magical, and Hermione wished that it wouldn’t end. But far too soon, the horse slowed down outside a massive stable.

Draco dismounted and helped Hermione down from the horse. He tossed the reins to the servant who came running up to him.

“Shall we go inside?” he asked her, concerned about her violent shivering.

“Y-y-yes,” she said croakily, her legs trembling as they struggled to support her very cold and exhausted body. She started walking next to him towards the expansive mansion that was just up the hill, but she found herself unable to make it.

“Malfoy, I—” she started to say, but he interrupted her.

“My parents are also Malfoys, so I’m not exactly sure who you mean when you call me that.”

“Fine. Draco?” she growled, sloshing through the wet grass beside him. 

“Yes?”

“I need help.” The admittance of this fact made her white face flush red, but she was very serious about needing help. Draco looked at her questioningly, but saw how much her body was shaking with cold and exhaustion. Her legs gave out the second he picked her up in his arms. 

“Better?” he asked her, smirking as he looked down.

“Yes,” she muttered. 

“So there I was, just taking a pleasant afternoon ride—albeit in the rain—and I was just getting ready to return to my house to reply to your letter, but then, what did I see?” Draco said wickedly. He strode around the mansion towards the front door, carrying her arms as easily as if she weighed nothing. “A very wet young woman lying under a tree! Now, I thought to myself, ‘What could Hermione Granger be doing on my property, unless she had a desperate undying wish to see me?’”

“That wasn’t it at all, Malf—Draco,” she amended, seeing the look on his face. “The house that I’m looking at renting is right over there and I was looking at it.”

“In the rain?” said Draco skeptically. He always managed to see right through her. “What really happened?” He pushed open his front door and walked inside. Hermione struggled in his arms and he set her down. “Well?” he said impatiently when there was no reply. With a muttered spell, he dried his hair magically and she did the same.

“It’s Ron,” Hermione said helplessly, but before Draco could pry more, he noticed how much she was shivering and led her to the living room, where a roaring fire was going in the fireplace.

“Do you want to change clothes?” he asked chivalrously, summoning the clothes that he had brought out for her last time she had been at his mansion.

She nodded. Draco turned his back while Hermione tried on the clothes he had given her. They fit fine, though the jeans were a little long.

“Better?” he asked, smirking.

“Yes,” she answered, her lips still tinged with blue. She sat on the floor a few feet away from the fire, trying to warm up her chilled body.

“So what did Weasley do this time?” Draco asked, sitting in a chair behind her. 

Hermione stared into the fire, watching it snap and crackle in the hearth. “He kissed me,” she replied in a low voice.

From behind her, she heard a muffled snigger. “That bad, was it?”

She whirled around, fire in her eyes. “It’s not funny!” 

Draco managed to straighten his face. “I apologize. Of course it’s not funny.”

Hermione glared at him, but she couldn’t keep it up very long because of Draco’s exaggerated look of apology.

“Did you like Darkness?” Draco asked her suddenly, trying to change the subject and get her in a better mood.

She stared at him. “What?”

“The horse. His name is Darkness.”

A pure smile of joy shone on Hermione’s face as she answered with delight, “He’s gorgeous. Riding was amazing.”

“It relaxes me,” said Draco absently, looking into her eyes to see if she would tell him why being kissed by Weasley was so terrible. She looked amiable once more, so he tried again. “What upset you so much about Weasley’s kiss? Other than the obvious fact that it’s Weasley who’s doing it?”

“I just didn’t want to kiss anyone,” she stated abruptly. “It had nothing to do with Ron—he’s not a bad kisser. I just felt…” She trailed off, unable to find the word she wanted to use. Silence lapsed between the two of them, broken only by the snapping of the fire behind Hermione. 

Draco didn’t prod her for more, but merely waited for her to continue. His hair and clothes were dry and looked perfect, as if he had never even been in the rain. Hermione looked dry, but her body shook every now and then with residual shivers.

“Trapped,” she said at last, sounding very small as she looked up at him from her seat on the floor. Draco was struck with an urge to hold her close to him, but restrained himself. 

“I got a letter from the Ministry,” she went on. “My divorce is finalized and Rhys’s trial is on the 9th. I’m going. I have to give testimony or something.”

“Just tell the truth. Make sure you don’t cave once you’re in there and start denying that he ever hurt you,” said Draco darkly.

“I know…” Hermione glanced over at the large grandfather clock in the corner. “Merlin! Is it that late? I’ve been gone for hours!” She jumped to her feet, looking down at what she was wearing.

“You can return those later.”

“Thank you!” cried Hermione, grabbing her wand. “Thanks for everything, and I guess I’ll see you again—we’ll be neighbors soon.” And with that, she popped out of existence.

She reappeared outside of Harry’s house in the dim light of dusk. Not letting herself think about what she was going to say to Ron, she went through the front door quickly.

“Hermione! Where have you been?” asked Harry, standing up so quickly from the kitchen table that he almost knocked his chair over.

“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione said, patting his back while he hugged her. 

“Ron told me what happened,” explained Harry, pulling away from her. “He’s been looking for you all day.”

Hermione looked down. 

“He’s an idiot,” Harry surprised her by saying. “Don’t worry about what you did. Everyone else knows that you need more time before you get into anything. But where did you go?”

“I ended up at Malfoys’s house.” Harry’s surprised look led her to go on. “I went to the house that I’m going to rent, which as it turns out, is not that far from Malfoy Mansion.”

“The git still lives with his parents?” scoffed Harry. 

“He’s not a git!” Hermione surprised Harry with the force of her response. “He’s done a lot for me lately, and I’d appreciate it if you’d not say things like that around me.”

“Okay, Hermione. Calm down.”

Before Hermione could snap at him for telling her to calm down, Ron apparated into the room. “Harry, I can’t find her any—Oh. You’re back.”

Hermione said nothing, staring at him hard. Her face turned pink as silence filled the room.

“I’m really sorry for what I did,” Ron muttered, looking down at the floor. “I just got a little carried away. It won’t happen again.”

“I forgive you,” Hermione replied.

Ron smiled in relief. “It really won’t happen again. You’re so important to me, Hermione, and I would never want to jeopardize what we have and—”

Harry kicked him and Ron finally shut up.

“Anyway,” Hermione said, to change the subject, “I can move into my house tomorrow. Would one of you mind helping me move things?”

“Yes!” shouted Ron, before Harry could say anything. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Awesome. Thanks, Ron. I’m going to go lie down for awhile. It’s been an exhausting day.” 

Once Hermione had left the room, Ron turned to Harry. “You can say it, mate. I’m an idiot.”

“Just give her time,” Harry repeated. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow at the office once I’m finished helping Hermione.” Ron disapparated for the night.

Harry sighed and drained his glass of tea. When would Ron ever learn?

 

The next morning, Hermione woke for the last time on Harry’s couch. She had enjoyed her stay at Harry’s house—he and Ginny had been great to her, but it was time for her to move out on her own. She packed her things with a wave of her wand, banished them to her new house, and with another wave, sent her Patronus off to find Ron. It took mere seconds of waiting before Ron popped into Harry’s living room. His hair was tousled with sleep, and his robes weren’t fastened properly, as if he had thrown them on hastily. Hermione stared at him in disapproval.

“Ron, I could’ve waited a few minutes while you got dressed and ate breakfast,” she said, looking at the sleepily-blinking man in front of her.

“No—I was already awake,” he insisted, rubbing his eyes hastily in an effort to look more awake. “I’m ready!”

“Okay, well, I’ve bought furniture and other things that have been delivered to my house, so all we have really have to do is go there and put things in their place,” instructed Hermione. Ron nodded sleepily. “Thank you so much for helping me with this, Ron.”

“It’s no problem, Hermione,” Ron replied, grinning.

“I’ll take you with Side-Along Apparition, since you don’t know where it is.”

Ron gripped Hermione’s arm tightly and the two of them disappeared.

“Nice choice!” Ron cried at seeing her house. The small house was perched alone on a hill. Stretching out for miles behind the house were beautiful grassy fields. In the distance, right before the tall mountains, was an enormous mansion. Hermione knew that was Malfoy Mansion, but Ron was oblivious to this. Right through two of the rolling plains ran a small clear stream where at that precise moment, a doe and a fawn were drinking. The house itself was a small one-story with a small kitchen, a living room, one bedroom, and a large bathroom with an enormous bathtub that Hermione couldn’t wait to get in. 

Once Hermione opened the front door, chaos met their eyes. Pieces of furniture were placed haphazardly throughout the living room and kitchen, and boxes were stacked everywhere.

“Wow, what did you buy?” asked Ron, his eyes huge. 

“Just a few books,” Hermione replied defensively. 

Ron looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he forced a smile and said, “Let’s get started, then!”

Over the next few hours, Ron sweated and moved by hand every piece of furniture that Hermione had: three ceiling-tall bookshelves, a bed, a sofa, and more. He did so without magic, because neither he nor Hermione trusted their ability to levitate enormously heavy objects in small spaces without hitting the walls or ceiling. It didn’t help that several times, Hermione changed her mind about what piece of furniture would look good where. Ron was a good sport, though, and did everything without complaint. Once all the furniture was in place, Hermione began unpacking the boxes, most of which were full of heavy books.

Ron had no objection to handling book after book—sitting down and taking books out of boxes was much less exhausting than heaving bookshelves into place. “Did you keep every book that we ever bought for school?” he asked incredulously, hefting The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 onto the bookshelf that Hermione had designated to be for her old schoolbooks.

Hermione looked at him like he had grown an extra eye. “Of course! What else would I do, throw it away?” She said this as if it was as great a crime as murder. “And besides, you never know when you’ll need it again!”

“I can understand someone else needing the book again, but not you, Hermione,” Ron laughed, “because you’ve surely already memorized everything in it!”

Hermione made no move to deny what he said, because it was the pure truth. She had memorized all the spellbooks, along with any book she had ever gotten her hands on. “I may need to get another bookshelf, though,” she mused, looking around the living room. The walls were covered by bookshelves, but one more would certainly fit. And indeed, another one would be needed, as the three she had already purchased were nearly full. 

“All done,” Ron said finally, stretching his back. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon and they were finally finished. All of the boxes were empty and stacked neatly by the door for Hermione to later recycle. The deep mahogany bookshelves were filled with books that were ordered alphabetically. Her bed was neatly made with black and red sheets and a black comforter with an enormous lion that Ginny had given her as a gift. The bathroom was stocked with toiletries, and the kitchen had all the utensils necessary for Hermione to do her own cooking. Everything had been done and the house now looked like someone lived in it. 

Ron’s stomach growled loudly. Hermione giggled. “Have you eaten yet today?”

“No,” he replied sorrowfully, giving her a puppy dog look.

“Want to get something to eat in Diagon Alley?” she asked him, since the house was empty of food until she went shopping.

Ron looked down and proceeded to retie his shoe in an effort to hide his red face. “I’d love to, Hermione,” he answered, trying to tone down the excitement in his voice. “Oh, wait—I promised Harry I’d come in to work after I was done helping you…” He was clearly miserable about this fact.

“Just a quick lunch,” Hermione wheedled, looking slightly disappointed.

“Okay,” he relented, wanting to spend more time with her than he already had. And all he would have to do was tell Harry that the unpacking had taken a little longer than he’d thought.

“Great! I’ll just lock the door and we can go,” she replied happily, locking the door from the inside. 

She and Ron disapparated together, reappearing in the middle of the always-busy Diagon Alley. “So, where do you want to go?” she asked him.

Ron stuttered, not wanting to be put on the spot like that. Did she mean as a romantic place, or just a quick bite to eat in a café? He didn’t want to end up in the situation that he had gotten himself into yesterday. “Uh, whatever you feel like is fine with me.”

Hermione led him to a small café on the corner called Madam Byrdie’s and the two of them sat outside at a table under a brightly-colored umbrella. They ordered their lunch and then Hermione turned to Ron. Ron was struck by how beautiful she looked. Away from Rhys, her brown eyes were bright and her face was flushed with excitement. Her brown curly hair was blowing in the gentle breeze and she looked adorably cute in her jeans and well-fitting T-shirt. He was so caught up in admiring her that he missed the question that she asked him.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, ‘So how do you like being an Auror?’” she repeated, her voice sweet and melodious.

Ron swallowed, willing himself to focus on her words, not her body. “It’s exactly what I’ve always wanted to do,” he answered truthfully. He began to tell her stories of his Dark Wizard-catching escapades, and Hermione listened with fascination. He talked until their lunches arrived, when he immediately began filling his mouth with food. 

Hermione watched in amusement as Ron pushed the capacity of his mouth far beyond normal means. He hadn’t changed since school—or at least, his eating habits hadn’t.

She ate her grilled cheese sandwich slowly, savoring every bite. Ron’s eyes never left her, and while it felt slightly uncomfortable, she was just happy to be with him again. She had missed him more than she had realized.

“So how’s your love life?” she joked once she had finished. Ron was still finishing his second roast beef sandwich. He choked on his food when he heard the question.

When he had finally recovered, he answered cheerfully, “Nonexistent.”

Hermione grinned at his infectious enthusiasm. “At least you’re not miserable,” she laughed.

“Definitely not,” Ron replied seriously, gazing into her eyes. Not since you’ve been back, he thought.

The waitress came over and placed their check on the table. 

“I’ve got it,” Ron said impressively, dropping a galleon and a few sickles on the table. Before Hermione could thank Ron, the waitress also placed a bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers in front of Hermione, glancing nervously at Ron. 

Ron’s face flushed an angry red, which Hermione didn’t notice as she gasped with delight. “They’re beautiful!” she exclaimed, looking up at the waitress. “Who’re they from?”

The girl shrugged. She kept her eyes on Hermione rather than Ron, who looked murderous. “Some really handsome guy told me to make sure to give these to you and to tell you that ‘your newfound happiness shines as brightly as the flowers you now hold.’”

Hermione sighed and smelled the flowers. The waitress thanked Ron for the payment and tip and walked quickly away. “Oh, Ron, who do you suppose they’re from?”

“I have no idea,” her friend said, his teeth gritted.

Before Hermione could ask him what was wrong, Ron had stood up quickly and aimed his wand over Hermione’s head. 

“Why so violent, Weasel?” came a cool voice. “I’m allowed in Diagon Alley as surely as you are.”

Hermione turned around, recognizing the voice. 

Draco Malfoy stood several yards behind her, dressed in handsome black robes over a dark, jungle-green dress shirt and black slacks. He looked utterly unconcerned about the fact that Ron was aiming a wand directly at his heart. His arms were folded over his chest as he gave Ron an amused look. 

Hermione felt a strange hitch in her breathing as she looked at him—he looked amazing. She smiled warmly at him.

“You’re allowed here legally, but we all know where you should be,” spat Ron, moving around the table as quickly as he could. He stood between Hermione and Malfoy, sparks spitting from his wand. 

“As an Auror of the Ministry of Magic, it’s unwise to be threatening a civilian,” said Draco, his eyes narrowing. A few people had begun to cluster around them, watching intently should things escalate into a fight. “Especially when that civilian happens to know quite a lot of curses.”

“Is that a threat?” growled Ron.

“You’re the one aiming a wand at me,” pointed out Draco.

Hermione stood up, stepping around Ron. 

“Hello, Hermione,” said Draco, smiling as he watched her face light up. 

Ron stared, open-mouthed, as his friend approached his enemy, a skip in her step. His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to talk.

“I haven’t had time to give you your clothes back, but I’ll do that the moment I get home,” Hermione promised as Draco gently kissed her hand. She felt rather awkward in his presence, as the few other times that she had been with him had been times of great emotional distress for her. This time, however, they were speaking on even terms.

“It’s no problem at all,” Draco assured her. “They’re some of my mother’s from years ago, and she doesn’t wear them anymore anyway.”

“What the hell is going on here?!” screamed Ron, finally exploding. His red hair seemed to be standing up with anger and his face and ears were nearly as red as his hair. He closed the distance between him and Hermione, lowering his wand.

Draco stared at him amusedly. “Try not to blow your top, Weasley.”

“Ron, Draco’s my friend now,” Hermione said somewhat nervously, unconsciously moving backwards away from the enraged redhead until she was nearly pressed right up against Draco, who smirked at Ron antagonistically. 

“Your—he’s your fr—he’s what?!” Furious beyond belief, Ron was unable to form coherent sentences. 

“Hey, you need to calm down, dude,” called a sandy-haired teenager with an American accent. 

Ron glanced around him, realizing for the first time that they had an audience. Other people standing around them nodded and murmured their agreement with the American boy. 

Ron fumbled in his pocket and whipped out his Auror badge. “As an Auror of the Ministry of Magic, I’m ordering you all to disperse, or you’ll risk arrest and detainment!” he screamed, utterly out of control. The crowd mumbled and slowly drifted away.

“Ron, what are you doing?” asked Hermione, her voice shrill. “You’ll get in terrible trouble for misusing your title if you keep this up! It says in article six of the code for—”

“Shut up, Hermione,” snapped Ron. Hermione looked as if he had slapped her. “I want to know what the fuck has happened between you and this arse. Right now.”

“She doesn’t have—”

“No, it’s fine,” said Hermione, cutting Draco off. “When I was married to Rhys, Draco is the one who gave me the courage to leave him.”

“Harry and I were the ones who—”

“I was already going to leave him,” Hermione interrupted. “Him attacking me only speeded up the process.”

“He’s a Death Eater!” Ron cried, trying another tactic.

“You’re right, Weasley,” snarled Draco, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He violently pulled back his robes to show his left forearm. There was no ink-black tattoo marring his fair skin. “And we have a new, invisible Dark Mark.”

“Do you love him?” Ron spat at Hermione, who backed up a pace, this time running right into Draco. 

“Of course not—what do you think this is?” she said. 

Ron raised his wand quickly to point it at Draco. Hermione, however, saw the quick movement of his arm and reacted instinctively. She flinched horribly and shrank back against Draco’s chest. Draco caught her shoulder to support her as she cringed away from Ron. For the first time, Draco’s smirk disappeared, to be replaced by anger. Hermione stared at Ron, her eyes huge.

Ron immediately put his wand away, going pale. “Oh, Merlin, Hermione, I would never—” He tried to place his hand on her shoulder, but Draco viciously shoved him away. 

“I think you’ve done enough damage, Weasley,” he snapped.

“Hermione…” Tears welled up in Ron’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hermione said, recovering. She managed to give Ron a tiny smile. “I’m just a little jumpy still.”

“I have to go to the office,” muttered Ron, not able to look her in the eyes. “I’ll see you later.”

“Ron, it’s okay,” she insisted, but Ron was unable to speak to her anymore when he knew that he had just lost this battle to Draco Malfoy. Without thinking, Hermione had placed her hand over Draco’s as it rested on her shoulder. The sight of her so willingly close to his hated school enemy was just too much for Ron. “I have to go,” he repeated, turning around.   
He didn’t walk away very fast, however, and it was with a sharp pain in his heart that he heard Hermione say to Draco, “I’m headed home right now, so if you’d like to come over, I can give you those clothes back.”   
Ron turned in place and disapparated, leaving nothing but one single tear behind. 

“Side-along Apparition?” asked Draco as Hermione gazed at him, her eyes still troubled over Ron’s anger.

“Sure,” she said, returning briefly to the table to collect her flowers. 

Draco took her arm, and Hermione pulled them away into nothingness. 

The two of them reappeared inside Hermione’s new house. Draco looked around curiously, laughing when he saw the many bookcases full of books. 

“What’s so funny?” Hermione asked from the kitchen as she filled a vase with water for the sunflowers to go in.

“How many books does one person really need?”

Hermione glared at him. “Maybe if people actually read more often, instead of doing useless things like Quidditch or Wizards Chess, then there’d be a lot less idiocy in the world.”

Draco looked over at her, his grey eyes alight with amusement. “Bookworm,” he muttered. Before she could reply nastily, he hurried to bring up a better topic. “Those are nice flowers,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I know, but I don’t know who—oh,” Hermione said, finally getting the hint, “they’re from you. Thank you,” she said, rather shyly. 

“My pleasure,” said Draco.

The two of them stood in awkward silence until Hermione said, “I’ll go get those clothes!”

Unbidden, Draco followed her into the bedroom where the clothes lay neatly folded on her bed. “Ugh, that’s so Gryffindor,” he groaned, startling Hermione, who didn’t know he’d followed her.

“Better a lion than a snake,” she said lightly, tossing the clothes at him. Draco caught them before they hit his face. “Thanks for letting me borrow them.”

Draco nodded and followed Hermione out of the bedroom. “So, I have a bit of a dilemma,” he said once they were in the living room. 

“What?” Hermione asked, intrigued by the expression on his face, which was one of calculation, amusement, and—dare she say it?—hope. She sat on the sofa and gestured for him to also sit.

“I am being forced to attend the annual Ministry of Magic ball,” he said with an exaggerated tone of misery. “I have been invited by several people in positions of power, so it’s really in my best interests to go.”

“How terrible for you, Mr. Malfoy,” said Hermione amusedly, wondering where this was going. “I went last year, and trust me—it’s quite the ordeal.”

“Well,” Draco went on, “be that as it may, I have found that it makes everything much easier when one has someone to make snide comments to while there.”

He paused, looking at Hermione, who suddenly realized what he was about to ask.

“Would you care to go with me? As friends, of course.” He said it offhandedly, as if he didn’t care either way, but Hermione wondered if perhaps he cared a little more than he pretended to. She looked at him, realizing that she might actually have fun with him if she went. 

“Sure,” she answered, surprising herself. “It’s not for another two months, though, right?”

“Yes,” he answered. “My parents have been worrying for weeks that I don’t have a date yet.”  
Hermione nodded, looking amused. 

Draco hurriedly continued, “Not that I couldn’t get a date—I just haven’t found anyone worth going with. They’re either pretty but with no brains, or they’re too goody goody to say anything besides what’s expected of them.”

“And a muggleborn is worth going with?” asked Hermione, staring at him intently. Her tone was light, but beneath it ran an undercurrent of seriousness. 

“I don’t have the same values that I did when we were at Hogwarts,” he said with a touch of irritation. “People change. Are you the same person that you were a few years ago?”

“No,” replied Hermione. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“It’s okay,” he said, flashing her a smirk. “Just remember that I’m still dangerous. I play a mean game of Quidditch.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Quidditch is easy. Getting into the Healing program at St. Mungo’s is hard.”

“Is that something you want to do?” Draco asked. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a Healer, but Rhys didn’t see the need,” said Hermione bitterly.

“You should do what you want,” said Draco.

“I plan on it.” Hermione smiled, yawning. 

“Are you tired?”

“I had a busy day,” she replied, nodding. “Unpacking and stuff…” Though she didn’t say it, they both knew who the “stuff” referred to.

“I’ll just go, then,” Draco said, rising from the sofa.

“When will I see you again?” she asked sleepily.

“Oh, I’ll be around,” he said mysteriously, winking.

“That sounds creepy,” she informed him. 

“Damn, I was going for mysterious and sexy,” he said, sounding disappointed. “In any case, I live very close, so let’s just say that’s what I meant.” Draco smirked. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company.” With a loud crack, he disapparated.

Flushed with excitement, she slowly walked towards the bedroom. “I’m going to go to the ball with Draco Malfoy,” she said aloud, trying out the words. He was very attractive and quite fun to be with. 

Then, as if she was condemned to never have a good time, a terrible thought crushed her. Rhys’s trial was in six days. She shuddered. All thoughts of sleep lost, she took a book to the bathroom and began filling up the bathtub with steaming hot water. Locking the door behind her out of habit, she undressed. 

When she finally slid into the water, it was heaven. Steam flowed up around her as she relaxed in the tub for hours, magically re-charming the water whenever it began to cool. Lost in the book, she read late on into the evening. Just when she was considering getting out, she heard a terrific crash coming from the front of her house. Panicked, she dropped the book in the water. She realized belatedly that she had left her clothes in the bedroom. Having no course of action while she was naked, she stayed silent, listening hard.

“Where is she?” said a voice. Since it was coming from all the way at the front of her house, she couldn’t tell if the voice was familiar or not.

The second that the bathroom door burst open, Hermione shrieked and disapparated.


	6. Chapter Six

While enjoying watching the World Cup Quidditch game on the television in his bedroom, Draco was suddenly shocked by hearing a loud crack that meant Apparition. His parents were out of the country and no one would dare apparate directly into Malfoy Manor unless they were suicidal. He turned off the television, grabbed his wand, and walked quietly to the door of his room.

“Draco!” he heard a familiar voice call. Hermione? Her voice was punctuated with fear. Caution thrown aside, Draco walked swiftly out into the hallway and truly had the shock of his life. Hermione Granger stood in his hallway, completely naked and dripping wet. He stared at her in astonishment, his wand held loosely by his side.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his face frozen in shock. His light grey eyes flicked from her flushed face to her nicely rounded breasts to her delicately formed thighs and legs. She had quite a nice body, he noticed with chagrin.

“There’s—there’s someone in my house,” she yelped, trying to cover herself with her hands. 

“Accio,” snapped Draco, and the clothes that Hermione had just returned to him flew from another room to his hand. He tossed them to Hermione. “Wait here.” He turned on the spot and disapparated.

Hermione dried herself with her wand and pulled on the shirt and pants that Draco had given her. She wondered nervously when he would be back. A few minutes passed, and she decided that it was pointless to be standing uselessly in a hallway. She hesitantly pushed open the door of the room that Draco had come out of. Looking in both directions—rather foolishly, for the house seemed empty—she entered the room. 

This was clearly Draco’s room. A television sat on a wooden dresser next to his Hand of Glory. The silver-painted walls had a few portraits on them, all of which were focused on her intently. The room was filled with the scent of the cologne that Hermione had always smelled whenever she was near Draco. A peeling poster was hanging on the wall that said “Slytherin.” The large bed was unmade, but looked intensely comfortable. Stuck to the ceiling were glow-in-the-dark stars of the wizarding variety, which needed no sunlight to work. Sunlight was clearly no problem in this room, however, as two enormous windows allowed the prodigious sunlight to brightly light up the room.

Hermione looked around the room curiously, seeing a glimpse into the life of Draco Malfoy. There were two photographs in his room. One was a picture of him and his parents in front of the Hogwarts Express, and the other was a picture of him in his Quidditch uniform, a proud smirk on his face.

Suddenly, she heard voices coming towards Draco’s room.

“Oh, I do hope he’s here,” said a gentle female voice.

“He does have a life of his own, Narcissa, my dear,” replied an amused male voice, cultured and aristocratic, “as well as his job.”

Hermione paled. Draco’s parents were back! 

“But, Lucius, it’s the weekend!” The door was pushed open. “Draco, dear?”

Narcissa let out a shriek as she saw Hermione standing in the middle of the room.

Lucius whipped his wand out of his cane and aimed it at her. “Who are you?” he demanded. His eyes, grey like Draco’s but much darker, flashed with suspicion.

“I’m Hermione Granger!” she cried, holding her hands up. 

“Hermione Morenci?” asked Narcissa, recovering enough to push her husband’s wand hand down.

“Yes. Formerly,” she amended, putting her arms down again once Lucius’s suspicious gaze lessoned. 

“Excellent, my dear,” Narcissa said unexpectedly, walking gracefully over to Hermione. “I knew the moment I saw that man that he was no good. Draco told us about his plan regarding that terrible Roald Cyrus.”

Hermione accepted the older woman’s embrace and explained why she was in their home, as well as where Draco had gone, leaving out the part about her being in the bathtub when someone broke into her house. Lucius’s face softened once she began to explain, and he replaced his wand in his cane. 

“I hope Draco’s okay,” fretted Narcissa, her beautiful face worried. 

As if summoned by this, there was a loud crack and Draco reappeared right next to them. A bleeding gash marred the smooth skin of his cheek and he breathed heavily.

“Draco!” wailed Narcissa, throwing herself into her son’s arms. 

Draco patted his mother on the back, wincing. “I was attacked first,” he gasped once Lucius pulled his mother off of him. “The coward tried to curse me and I fought back, father.”

“Draco, what happened?” Hermione asked frantically. 

Seeming to notice her for the first time, Draco turned to her. “Weasley broke into your house because you didn’t answer the door.”

“I was in the bathroom!” she exclaimed, wondering how her friend could be so reckless.

“We dueled and he fled,” continued Draco. He sat down on the edge of his bed to catch his breath, aiming his wand at his cheek to heal it. “I fear that he’ll bring the Ministry into this since he’s an Auror.”

“We have Ministry contacts of our own,” Lucius said impressively, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” said Hermione, watching him carefully.

“Yes, I’m fine. Before you go back home, though, I need to speak to you. Alone.”

Narcissa took the hint. “We must check on the rose gardens, Lucius. You know how the gardeners like to slack off while we are away.” She began to walk out of the room, her hand on her husband’s arm to pull him along. 

Once Draco’s parents had gone, he turned to her. 

“What exactly happened?” Hermione asked him before he could say anything.

Draco sighed and began to explain.

 

Twenty Minutes Previous:

Draco apparated directly in front of Hermione’s house and heard a racket coming from inside. He quietly pushed open the front door and saw Ron Weasley slamming open the door to Hermione’s room. Harry Potter stood beside him, scowling. 

“I’m done with this, Ron,” he barked. “There’s nothing happening here; she’s in no danger. You just scared the life out of her when she was in the bathroom—who knows where she’s gone now?”

“She was with MALFOY, Harry!” Ron roared back. “She didn’t answer the door—I thought she was in trouble!”

“You’re such a git!” 

“Sod off!”

Harry disapparated with a crack, and Draco stepped forward.

“Just what the hell are you doing, Weasley?” he asked, his wand raised.

“Where is she, Malfoy?!” screamed Ron, whirling around. “I know you’ve done something to her!”

A bright yellow flash of light burst out of Ron’s wand and hit Draco in the chest, driving him to the ground. Ron cursed a delicately-molded glass cat that formerly sat on the fireplace, and the cat came alive, loping forward to slash Draco in the face.

Growling with pain, Draco threw off the curse keeping him on the ground and lunged to his feet, transfiguring the cat into an enormous serpent which flew through the air at Ron. Ron disapparated on the spot. While Draco looked around to see where Ron had gone, the redhead reappeared behind him and kicked Draco hard in the back, sending him crashing forwards into the wooden coffee table, which broke beneath his weight. 

Struggling to ignore the pain in his bruised body, Draco flipped over onto his back, aimed his wand at Ron, and cried, “Incendio!”

Ron shrieked as his robes burst into flames. In the time it took him to douse them with water, Draco was able to stand up and punch him in the face. Reeling backwards while gripping his eye, Ron spat, “I’m an Auror, Malfoy! You’ll pay for that!”

Draco dove at him to hit him again, but Ron disapparated from the house for good. Wearily casting a repairing charm on the living room and front door, Draco apparated back to his house.

“I’m going to kill him!” cried Hermione furiously, pacing in front of Draco. 

He watched her with tired amusement as his breathing returned to normal.

“Harry, too!” she exclaimed. Her brown eyes seemed electric with anger and her curls flowed around her face as she paced.

Draco finally grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. “You’re making me dizzy,” he explained.

“Sorry,” she muttered, sitting next to him on the bed. “Thanks for going to my house for me. And for, uh, not mentioning my state of…undress…to either Ron or your parents.”

“No problem,” he replied, smirking. He looked her up and down quite blatantly. “My pleasure.”

Hermione blushed, but didn’t look altogether displeased with his gaze on her. When he reached up to gently move a strand of hair from in front of her eyes, she didn’t flinch. Her skin felt warm and soft beneath his fingers. Her eyes stared warmly into his as they looked at each other, their faces mere inches apart.

Draco leaned towards her very slowly, giving her time to move away.

Flushed, Hermione remained didn’t move, knowing what he was going to do—she wanted it, too, she realized with a shock. She wanted him to kiss her. There was not one thought of Rhys running through her head as Draco closed the rest of the distance between them.

Their lips touched gently, but for Hermione it was all but chaste. A warm, tingling sensation rushed quickly through her entire body and she made no protest as Draco leaned a little closer to deepen the kiss. She unconsciously moved her hands to around his neck, but Draco made no move to put his hands on her. She made a little sound of distress and broke the kiss, looking at him with confusion.

“What is it?” His eyes were bright with energy, his pale skin flushed with red.

“Why—why aren’t you touching me?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. She looked down, embarrassed.

“I didn’t you to feel trapped,” replied Draco gently, looking at her guardedly.

Hermione smiled tentatively. “I didn’t.”

With a growl, Draco stood up, pulling her up with him. He tilted her face up with his hand and kissed her once more. His kiss was hungry and passionate, his tongue gently sliding into her mouth to mingle with hers. One of his hands cupped the side of her face, while the other was on the small of her back, pressing her against him.

Hermione was swept away by his kiss. Her body felt alive with electricity. She kissed him as if her life depended on it, arms looped around his waist, eyes closed. She had never, in her entire life, felt like this before.

Draco opened his eyes to gauge Hermione’s reaction. Her eyes were closed, and she looked like she was kissing him as if her life depended on it. He inwardly winced. He hadn’t meant to start this with her… He wasn’t ready to do this again, was he? After Pansy Parkinson had broken his heart, he had limited himself to short relationships and things of that nature. Hermione was not the kind of girl to be in a short relationship, not after what Rhys had done. She needed someone gentle, loyal, and secure for her next relationship, to help her heal. Could he do that for her?

He returned his attention to the kiss, resolving to do his best not to hurt her.

Narcissa came to the door to ask Draco and Hermione if they would care to eat lunch in the garden with her and Lucius, but stopped when she saw the two kissing. They made a lovely couple. Draco, tall and proud, was kissing Hermione possessively, as if she was his alone. Hermione, smaller and more fragile, kissed him back passionately, putting her full trust in him.

Draco’s had enough hurt in his life, Narcissa thought to herself, continuing down the hallway. It’s time for someone who will love him as much as he will love her. And he does need to marry someday, after all. He’s our only son. 

“Is he coming?” Lucius asked. 

Narcissa snapped out of her thoughts, smiling contentedly. “No—he’s busy at the moment. Lucius, I think he’s coming to love her.”

Lucius motioned for his wife to sit beside him on the rocking bench. He put his arm around her and drew her close as they rocked slowly. “I just want him to find what we have,” he confessed.

Narcissa closed her eyes, resting her head on her husband’s chest. “I pray for it every day,” she whispered.

 

“DRACO MALFOY!” boomed a magically-enhanced voice, shaking Malfoy Manor. 

Back in Draco’s room, Hermione and Draco broke apart, startled. 

“This is Alex Salinas, Assistant Department head of the Aurors of the Ministry of Magic. You are hereby under arrest and facing charges for assaulting an Auror,” continued the same rumbling voice, which echoed throughout the entire mansion. “If you do not surrender your wand and come with us immediately, you shall be forcibly removed from the premises.”

Lucius rushed into Draco’s room, followed closely by a very white Narcissa Malfoy. “Come, Draco,” said Lucius, his dark eyes glittering with rage at the indignity of the situation. “You must go with them, but I will have you out by the end of today, I promise.”

Completely pale, Draco slowly followed his father towards the entranceway of the house. His tread was heavy and halting, though the firm set to his face hid his fear. Hermione trailed behind them, wondering what she could do.

Just before Draco, Lucius, Narcissa, and Hermione reached the front door, it exploded with a splintering crash, showering them with fragments of mahogany. No less than ten Aurors swarmed through the doors, black robed and grim-looking. It took only moments for them to reach Draco, but a sudden terrible shriek made them freeze. Everyone’s eyes were drawn to its source.

Narcissa Malfoy’s frightened blue eyes locked on her husband as she fell to the floor, a jagged chunk of mahogany buried deep in her chest. It seemed as if she fell in slow motion, though the blood coursed much too swiftly from her body. 

“MUM!” screamed Draco, breaking free of the Auror who had grabbed his shoulders.

Lucius reached his wife first, cradling her head gently in his arms. For the first time that anyone had ever seen, he was actually shaking with fear. Narcissa was no longer conscious and the pool of blood grew ever larger. Draco whipped out his wand and began furiously throwing curses at the Aurors, who began attacking back in earnest. Ignoring the battle between his son and the Aurors, Lucius disapparated immediately with his wife to St. Mungo’s.

Draco Malfoy was nearly insane with rage. Backed up against a wall, his mind was fully concentrated on blocking curses and spells while also casting many of his own. The wall behind him was soon scarred and cracked with missed curses. Lights of many colors flashed throughout the large entranceway, which echoed with shouted spells.

Hermione watched helplessly, feeling much as she had in her first year when she had been confronted with the terrifying troll. She couldn’t think of what to do. She cringed flat against the wall opposite Draco, watching in open-mouthed horror. One of the Aurors’ curses flew wild and slammed into the wall above her head, shattering a wall-mounted light and sending glass sprinkling down upon her. Ron Weasley, his face white beneath his freckles, rushed to Hermione and pulled her with him as he disapparated.

Ron reappeared at the Ministry of Magic inside his office. He looked at Hermione, who was trembling with the shock of everything that had just happened. Shards of glass and splinters of wood were stuck in her hair, which was tangled and wild. Her entire body sagged with exhaustion, as the day had been incredibly long. First the physical exertion of moving furniture in her house, then the fight with Ron in Diagon Alley, then the frightening end to her bath, and now this. But while her posture showed weariness, the fire in her eyes was just the opposite.

“Now, Hermione,” began Ron, trying to placate her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Where’s Harry?” she snapped, shoving his hand away from her. 

“Why do you want to talk to him?” asked Ron belligerently, crossing his arms over his chest.

“WHERE’S HARRY?!” she screamed, angry tears streaming down her face. The stress from the entire day was overloading her mind.

“Hermione?” said a concerned voice. Harry pushed open the door and came in quickly. 

“I—I need to—I need to talk to you about—” Hermione began hyperventilating as she tried to talk to Harry.

Ron stepped forward, looking worried, but Hermione refused to let him touch her, backing away.

“Come on,” Harry said quietly, putting his arm around Hermione’s shoulders and leading her from the room. He walked with her to his office and directed her to a chair. 

Hermione looked up at him, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Ron’s—he’s—” She couldn’t finish as she hyperventilated.

“Calm down,” Harry said softly, rubbing her shaking back. “Just calm down and tell me what’s happened.”

Hermione took several deep breaths before she continued. “After you left my house, Ron and Draco fought each other. Ron disapparated. He came back to Malfoy’s house with Aurors, who broke the door down and either gravely wounded or killed Narcissa Malfoy. Draco was fighting them when I left. You have to do something!”

Harry frowned and searched the papers on his desk before coming up with the one he was looking for. He read it swiftly, his mouth narrowing in a hard, angry line. “This is the arrest warrant for Draco Malfoy,” he explained, showing it to Hermione. “And it has my signature on it.”

Before Hermione could say anything in anger, Harry continued, “Problem is, I’ve never seen this before. And I didn’t sign it.”

Hermione sniffled, wiping her eyes. “I need to find out what happened to Draco,” she said quietly.

“And I need to kill Ron,” said Harry angrily. “He’s gone too far this—”

“Harry Potter, sir!” Harry’s door slammed open to reveal an tall Auror who was panting heavily. “We have apprehended the criminal,” he gasped, just as a crowd of Aurors rushed up behind him, pushing him aside to enter. 

Hermione was knocked off her chair as the small room was quickly crowded with people. She let out a small cry of pain as the wind was knocked out of her and her hand was trampled by an Auror’s black boot.

“Here he is, sir!” said another Auror, shoving forward their criminal. 

Silenced with a spell, his arms bound tightly behind his back, Draco Malfoy stood before them, clothes ripped. A bruise was forming on his right cheek and a nasty gash on his right forearm bled freely. His chest heaved with his heavy breaths and his face was covered in sweat as he yelled silently at Harry. His eyes darted around the room from Harry to the Aurors who all watched him carefully.

“He attacked all of us,” said the Auror who had first spoken.   
“Thank you, Mercer,” said Harry, looking unsure of what to say to this group that was all looking triumphant at their difficult capture. “Who gave you the arrest warrant?”

They all looked amongst themselves nervously, until one of them spoke up. A short, wiry man with blond hair said, “Weasley did, sir. But it had your signature,” he was quick to add.

“I did not sign the warrant,” Harry said, his face stormy. The short man blanched. “And protocol states that all arrest warrants must be given to you from my hand.”

“Sir?” said a man with a nervous tic over his eye. “N-now that he has attacked t-ten Aurors, h-he still g-goes to Azkaban for that, r-right? S-so we didn’t really m-m-mess up.”

“Be that as it may, O’Callaghan, his family was attacked, as I hear it,” Harry stated grimly. He waved his wand, negating the silencing spell on Draco.

“I want to see my fucking mother, Potter!” Draco roared, looking like a crazy man as he wrenched against the arms holding him back from Harry. “You FUCKERS attacked her and I will kill every last fucking one of you! WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?!”

Hermione managed to get to her feet and rushed over to him, her eyes full of tears again.

“Malfoy, pending an investigation—”

Ignoring Harry, Hermione made the rope binding Draco’s hands disappear with a wave of her wand. He realized instantly that he was free, and seized his chance. With a twinge of regret, Draco grabbed Hermione by the neck and pulled her flush against his chest. He grabbed her wand from her and aimed it at her neck. 

Harry whipped out his wand, his mouth open with horror.

“Drop your fucking wands!” screamed Draco, looking around the room quickly. “You!” he yelled to Mercer. “Put my wand in my pocket. One wrong move and she fucking dies!”

Harry nodded to the Aurors, who followed him in placing their wands down. Mercer walked forward slowly and slipped Draco’s wand into his pocket as ordered. Hermione felt dizzy—everything seemed to spin around her surreally. What was Draco doing to her? How could he do this? His arm around her neck wasn’t tight enough to hurt her, but the emotional pain of his betrayal threatened to crush her. 

Draco spun in place and disapparated, bringing Hermione with him. They two of them reappeared in the ruined doorway of Malfoy Mansion. 

“I’m so sorry for this,” Draco whispered, releasing Hermione. He held out her wand to her. Reaching out for it with a numb hand, Hermione looked at him.

“Why?” was the only word to pass her lips. 

Lucius appeared with a loud crack. His hair was mussed and messy—tears streaked the aristocratic face. “She’s gone,” he sobbed. “They couldn’t save her.” He let out a wail of misery, falling to his knees.

“No!” cried Draco. Tears dripped down his face as he kneeled beside his father on the ground. He put an arm around his father and the two clung to each other. “Father, I fought the Aurors—they’re coming very soon for me,” he admitted, the tears falling swiftly from his grey eyes.

“We’re leaving,” decided Lucius, wiping tears from his own eyes as he got heavily to his feet. “We’re leaving England. This corrupt Ministry of fools has killed my wife and wrongfully accused my son. We’re through. We’re going to run.”

A sob from Hermione drew their attention. 

“I need to grab a few things,” muttered Lucius. “Be ready in two minutes.” The broken man staggered away towards his study. 

“Draco,” whispered Hermione, reaching for him. 

Draco backed away—his eyes hardened. “We can’t be together,” he said harshly, his eyes red and still wet with tears. A bitter rage over his mother’s death coated his heart and emotions like steel.

“Please don’t do this,” she begged, realizing what he was doing. He was leaving. Her heart felt like it was shattering. “I told you everything—I defended you—I trusted you…”

“You shouldn’t have,” he snarled. “I’m gone, Granger. Just move on with your life.” Filled with incredible pain and grief at his mother’s death and guilt at the girl who had been shattered by his words, he turned away to meet his father, his face set. 

“You opened the door to my cage,” she murmured, making Draco pause in his tracks. “I flew free. I flew to you. And you put a bullet through my heart.” Though Hermione didn’t know it, it took all the strength in Draco’s body to walk away from her.

Tears blinded the girl as she sat down desolately amidst the rubble that had once been the Malfoy’s front door. She heard rather than saw Draco and Lucius disapparate for good. She began sobbing hysterically, drawing her knees up to her chest and rocking back and forth. Draco had been like a crutch to her. She had leaned on him for emotional support. When he had kissed her, she had felt a connection with him. Had he been just using her? When they’d kissed, he had seemed to have been pouring all he had into the kiss. But he had been no different than Rhys in the end, hadn’t he? Just using her…

When Aurors poured into the house hours later, Hermione told them what Lucius had said about leaving England, but she refused to go with them back to the Ministry of Magic and Harry Potter. The Aurors left once Hermione had told them what she knew. 

Hermione slowly walked the two miles from Malfoy Mansion to her house, still crying. Little by little, her tears dried up and she felt utterly numb and uncaring. The sun had long ago set behind the mountains and she was walking blindly in the darkness, guided only by the lights that were still on in her house in the distance. By the time she reached her welcoming house, she was so dead tired that she could barely think about Draco or anything else. She locked the door behind her and cast a multitude of wards around it that would prevent the doors and windows being broken or unlocked by any wand but her own. She emptied the tub of the tepid water that remained in there from earlier before retiring to her bedroom. 

Crawling into her bed at her new house for the first time was not as exciting as it should have been for her, because her thoughts were completely occupied by everything that had happened that day. She fell asleep seconds after she closed her eyes, but her dreams were troubled with images of the men who had betrayed her—Rhys, Ron, and Draco.


	7. Chapter Seven

Hermione did not wake up until nearly noon the next day. When she remembered everything that had happened the night before, she felt like going right back to bed. She didn’t, however. Forcing herself to get out of bed, she stumbled to the bathroom and into the shower. Misery consumed her once more, and she sat down in the shower, feeling the hot water pour down upon her. 

“What am I going to do?” she asked herself quietly. She didn’t realize how much she had depended on Draco until he was no longer there. Rhys’s trial was fast approaching. Now it looked like she would have to face it alone, for she was in no way going to speak to Ron for a very long time. Fear and dread swept through the young woman, who groaned in despair. “I’m such a coward,” whispered Hermione, remembering back to her days at Hogwarts. 

Using all of her courage, she got to her feet, rinsed out her hair, and stepped out of the shower. After getting dressed, Hermione had the unhappy realization that there was no food in her house. She made a trip to a nearby grocery store to remedy the situation, returning immediately to her house when she was finished. The elderly cashier at the muggle grocery store looked upon Hermione with pity as she took in the classic signs of heartbreak: tear-swollen eyes, hastily-combed hair, and a look of utter desolation.

Once she had put the food away, she slowly ate an apple while staring blankly at the sunflowers that sat in their vase on the counter. As she took the last bite, two owls flew through the kitchen window and landed on the table. 

The first one that she opened had the symbol of St. Mungo’s on it—a bone and a wand crossed together. It was a letter of acceptance into the Healer training program. 

“That’s funny,” growled Hermione bitterly. “I don’t remember applying.”

Her heart clenched as she realized that this was yet another thing that Draco Malfoy had done for her. Shoving the hurt away, she opened the other letter. Her heart nearly broke again when she saw the familiar smooth script gracing the page.

 

Hermione,  
I’m going to make the Ministry pay for what they have done to my mother. Where I am right now is no place for you. I apologize for everything that happened yesterday. Know that I never meant for you to be hurt. Fulfill the path you were meant to follow before Morenci coerced you away from it; become a Healer and live a happy life.  
D.M.

 

“That’s it?” she asked the owl who had brought the letter. The small black bird ruffled its feathers at her angry tone and flew away. “Screw him!” The letter was just empty words. She had come to care for him more than she would admit. When they had kissed, she’d believed that their relationship would actually go somewhere. But he left without a care for her, leaving her only this letter—a letter that said nothing but goodbye.

A loud banging on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Open up, Hermione! I know you’re in there,” came a loud, but familiar, voice.

Hermione’s blood immediately heated up. “Get the fuck away from my house, Ron!”

“Where’s your sodding boyfriend?” he said angrily, kicking the door again. “I know you know where he is! For threatening you, kidnapping you, attacking Aurors, and now evading arrest, he’s facing up to fifty years in Azkaban. If you tell me where he is, I’ll make sure that the sentence gets reduced.”

Hermione opened the door, her eyes fiery. “I don’t know where he is!” she screamed hysterically, throwing Draco’s sunflowers at him, vase and all. Ron ducked just in time, and the vase shattered on the ground behind him. “And he’s not my boyfriend, in case you couldn’t bloody tell!”

Ron’s face, red already, suddenly contorted with even more rage. He opened and closed his mouth soundlessly for a few moments, during which Hermione slammed the door.

Seconds after Ron disapparated, she heard another crack that signaled apparition. A gentle knocking sounded throughout the living room where Hermione sat, breathing heavily, on the sofa.

“Hermione? Ron told me you’re here,” said Harry. “I’m not leaving until you come out. We need to talk.”

“Go away,” called Hermione dully, waving her wand at the door. Harry’s reply was suddenly silenced as Hermione cast a Sound-Barring Charm on her front door. “I’m not talking to either of you,” she muttered, staring moodily at the floor. When she was satisfied that Harry had gone away, she removed the sound charm and went back to her bedroom to take a nap.

It was in this fashion that the few days before Rhys’s trial passed. Every day, Harry came to Hermione’s house and tried to talk to her. He sent letters, but Hermione never replied. She did nothing but read, for doing anything else just invited thoughts that she did not want to have. She received no further correspondence from Draco, and the one letter she had tried to send him had been returned to her because the owl could not find his location. 

From the Daily Prophet, which was delivered every day, Hermione found out that there was a warrant out for the arrest of Draco Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy’s death was also on the front page, and her story had prompted an enormous outcry from witches around the country. As Narcissa had been a huge supporter of witches’ rights and other causes in the community, her unnecessary and terrible death was greatly mourned. Hermione was surprised to learn that Ron was facing serious charges for forging Harry’s signature to use the Aurors for his own revenge—he had also been stripped of his Auror badge, pending a full investigation into the incident.

The morning of Rhys’s trial dawned rainy and foggy. Hermione hadn’t slept the night before, and she was so terrified of this trial that she had to spend ten minutes trying to calm down before she felt confident enough in her skills to apparate without splinching herself.

Going in the visitor’s entrance, she quickly typed in the proper code and soon found herself in the enormous entranceway of the Ministry of Magic. Her heart pounding rapidly and fiercely, she found her way to room 812 just two minutes before the trial was scheduled to begin. The room was filled with people, around sixty in total, all talking amongst themselves. Looking around nervously, Hermione realized that she didn’t recognize anyone in the room. Harry and Ron had promised that they would be there! Though she wasn’t speaking to Ron, she still thought Harry would show up for her. However, it appeared that he had been driven away by the cold shoulder treatment she had given him the past few days.

The Wizengamot was assembled around the front of the room, all reviewing pieces of parchment in front of them. The audience was a mixture of reporters and civilians, with a few members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad here and there to keep the peace. Hermione saw many women there, as well as a few men who looked like they had been dragged here against their will by their stern-faced wives.   
One person caught her eye—an ordinary-looking man with light golden hair and blue eyes watched her intently from the front row of the room. What made her look at him was the fact that he was drinking out of a silver flask that was identical to the one that Mad-Eye Moody had used every time she saw him. Hermione smiled, memories of Hogwarts erasing some of her fear for the moment. The man looked startled and took another gulp of his flask. Hermione shrugged and looked away from him, where there was an empty chair labeled “Hermione Granger” set in front of the audience. 

She sat down nervously, all her terror returning in full. 

“Silence, please!” called the head of the Wizengamot, a stern-looking, middle-age man with pointed teeth. His badge read “B. Aldridge.”

Everyone quieted immediately. 

The door at the end of the room opened to reveal two Aurors leading in Rhys Morenci. They placed him in the chair in the middle of the room. Rhys looked thinner than he had the last time Hermione saw him. His green eyes settled on her for a second, his lip curling in disgust as he looked her up and down. Paling, Hermione looked away.

“Rhys Morenci, you have been accused of assaulting your wife, Hermione, on multiple occasions, as well as trying to—” The court clerk paused, her eyes widening as she read the words. “—trying to whore your wife out to a business associate.” 

Tears of embarrassment streamed down Hermione’s face; people gasped. She was struck with a sudden urge to flee the room. 

Aldridge took over, making the room silent again. “Veritaserum has already proved that you have done these deeds. Do you have anything to say for yourself before sentencing?”

Rhys looked directly at Hermione. She flinched. “You’re a foul, hideous little girl. You’ll forever be as worthless as I treated you, and nothing you do can ever change that.”

The room exploded with outrage. People shouted obscenities—women especially—and through it all, Aldridge tried to settle the room down. Hermione bit her lip hard, feeling her face flush with shame and misery. Rhys laughed at her. She rose from her chair to finally give in to her desire to run, but a hand caught her arm and stopped her. It was the odd, golden-haired man with the flask.

“Don’t do it,” he murmured softly through all the chaos as she sat back down. He leaned his mouth in to her ear. “You can do this. It’s going to be over soon.”

Hermione looked at him, startled. “Who are you?” she asked incredulously. A look of pain came over the man’s face and he quickly leaned away from her and back in his seat.

 

The noise in the room slowly died down. 

“Rhys Morenci, we hereby sentence you to twenty years in Azkaban,” said Aldridge, looking disgusted. 

Rhys sighed in relief.

Aldridge moved to sign the sentencing document when a voice said skeptically, “Twenty years?” The open door revealed Harry Potter. Harry walked to the center of the room. “Twenty years, for destroying someone’s life?”

“Mr. Potter—”

“Mr. Aldridge, the victim of the attack has the right to make a statement at the sentencing of her attacker,” Harry interrupted confidently.

Aldridge nodded and waved for Hermione to proceed. Hermione’s face was completely white and she felt dangerously close to passing out.

“I also request that she be allowed to make her statement in a question-and-answer format,” Harry said hastily, “considering her condition.”

All eyes were now on Hermione, who struggled with her fear.

“Request granted,” said Aldridge, his sharp eyes watching Hermione carefully.

“Hermione,” said Harry, approaching her. He smiled reassuringly. “How do you feel right now?”

Hermione hesitated, paralyzed with fear.

“Damn it, Hermione, talk!” hissed the man from behind her.

“I’m terrified,” she said, her voice breaking. 

Sympathetic sighs and whispers floated around the room.

“He ruined my life,” continued Hermione, looking down at her hands. “I can’t stand the feeling of anyone touching me—I jump at shadows. I have no confidence anymore. I’m trying to get back what I’ve lost, but it’s just so hard…” Her voice trailed away.

“How did he hurt you?” Harry asked, his expression comforting and encouraging. 

Hermione looked down at her hands, finding within her the strength to speak. “He hit me, degraded me, and forced me to be intimate with him whenever he demanded. He confiscated all of my magical items and refused to let me near them.”

Harry looked up at Aldridge, his eyebrows raised. 

Aldridge looked around. “All in favor of raising the sentence of the accused to forty years?”

Every member of the Wizengamot raised his/her hands, with the exception of one. The man who hadn’t raised his hand was very old and looked like he had fallen asleep during the whole proceeding. “Rhys Morenci, you are hereby sentenced to forty years in Azkaban,” decreed Aldridge, signing the revised sentencing papers that the clerk passed him.

The room burst into discussion as Rhys was led out of the room by the Aurors, making obscene gestures to Hermione on the way out.

Harry approached her quickly and escorted her to his office in the Auror Department. Hermione looked around as they left the room, but saw no sign of the man. He had seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing him before in her life. She shrugged it off as Harry shut the door behind them.

“You did well,” he said, grinning.

“Why did you come?” she asked him, refusing to smile back.

“Hermione, you’ve been my friend nearly all my life,” Harry said, his smile vanishing. “I understand that you’re upset over what happened yesterday, but I’m not sure exactly why. We’re doing all we can to find Malfoy, okay? He can’t threaten you again.”

He had hit a nerve. “He never hurt me to begin with!” she snapped, her color rushing back. “Your Aurors killed his mother! He reacted out of hurt and anger when he used me to get out of your custody, and the same when he attacked the Aurors! In his mind, you attacked first.” Her chest ached to have to talk about Draco. “And now he’s gone,” she sighed, choking up.

“Was there something going on between you?” asked Harry shrewdly, putting his arm around her shoulder.

Hermione shuddered at the contact and he drew back quickly. “There might have been,” whispered the girl. A sob managed to escape her.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” Harry said gently, not knowing how to comfort her without being able to touch her. “Just—please, don’t shut me out. I understand why you don’t want to speak to Ron, but please don’t cut me out of your life, too.”

“Okay, Harry, but I just need to be alone right now,” said Hermione sadly, regretting the fact that her mind was now back on Draco. She turned to leave the room.

“Hermione?” Harry said from behind her. She paused, listening. “He did what he did out of love for you. He thought he was helping you by doing what he did. It doesn’t excuse what happened—he’s never going to be an Auror again—but he didn’t know this would happen. He didn’t know Mrs. Malfoy would get hurt.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice trembling with anger. She turned around slowly. “Everything that Ron did, he did out of jealousy. Don’t you dare try to excuse what he did. Don’t you dare.”

She strode out of his office, restraining her tears. She apparated to her house and sat down on the sofa. She took a deep breath. Rhys was gone from her life. He could never bother her again. Draco, too, was gone from her life. While the wound caused by his absence was still raw, Hermione felt a strength inside of her that he had also caused. She could move forward with her life. And she would, too. Some part of her felt that Draco’s part in her life could not be over; hope filled her body.

“Thank you, Draco,” she whispered softly, as she prepared to start her new life.

The End.


End file.
